Another Chance
by Toffeecrisp
Summary: Occupied France in the Spring of 1943 is a dangerous and challenging place to be but Georgina Lane is determined to serve her country and help the war effort although she is not expecting to meet someone from her past again. This is an historical AU which belongs to the 'Another' family of stories but is not a sequel and can be read separately.
1. Chapter 1

**_Not for the first time I am posting a new story with some trepidation, probably more than any story so far, as I am venturing into the world of Georgie and Elvis or Georgina (George) and Emile (sorry about the name changes but they are necessary to suit the era in which the story is set). I know there is a tremendous lot of love out there for Molly and CJ, and you can include me in that, but in honour of the new series I wanted to give two new characters the timeshift treatment and add them to the 'Another' family. This isn't a sequel to the other stories but more of a side-step. I know this version isn't for everyone but I hope you will forgive and humour me. Thanks for reading._**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

"Would you be prepared to serve your country overseas?"

Georgina Lane gazed back at the young army officer sitting behind the desk. She could read nothing in his expression: no enthusiasm, no patriotic fervour, just a steadfast, serious look that gave nothing away. She wasn't sure how to answer.

"In North Africa or something?"

There was no change in his expression.

"A little nearer to home. Your language skills could be very useful."

Her eyes widened at this remark as the penny finally dropped.

"In France?"

The young man glanced down at his notes appearing to be weighing up his response before raising his eyes to meet hers again. He noticed that she was watching him intently no doubt wondering if she had guessed right. She was a very pretty girl, he thought, too pretty for this line of work and yet there was something more about her, resoluteness and an unexpected steeliness in her eyes that others seeing only her attractiveness might miss. It was a face that would get her noticed but it also had the power to distract. It was distracting him right now and he forced his mind to focus on the question she had asked. When he replied he gave no hint of his thoughts and he was deliberately non-committal.

"Perhaps."

X-X-X-X

The hum of the Lysander's engine had almost lulled George to sleep by the time the RAF pilot turned his head to shout back to his passengers that they would be approaching the landing site in about five minutes. It shook her from her stupor and brought her back sharply to the realisation that she was almost there and the difficult and dangerous work was about to begin. She glanced over at her fellow passenger. Louis looked nervous. He was holding the leather briefcase on his lap a little too tightly and staring ahead of him, barely blinking behind the small, round glasses he wore. In his early thirties, slightly built, quietly spoken and unassuming, George could imagine he might have been a librarian in Civvy Street. He really hadn't seemed the type to volunteer for this, she thought, but then they had all come from different walks of life and how many would have expected a girl like her to embark on such a mission, certainly not her own family.

It was the lying about her activities she had found most difficult. It had felt wrong to lie to her parents. All their well-meaning enquiries about her new posting had been fielded with a recently acquired arsenal of lies. She had however, learned to walk the tricky path between lies and half-truths at what was misleadingly called the 'Finishing School', not that the lessons she had learned there were concerned with deportment, table manners or how to make polite conversation with young men. The skill of evading capture was seldom required by debutantes apart from the occasional unwelcome admirer. There was no doubt in George's mind after listening to the lecture from a recently returned agent that there were potential dangers on every street corner in occupied France and any attention of the kind the earnest young man had outlined was distinctly unwelcome and potentially disastrous.

George's parents had been disappointed that she had been posted to Scotland. This was yet another lie as the 'Finishing School' was actually in the grounds of a stately home in Hampshire, however, she had needed to put a significant distance between herself and the family home and a fictitious posting in Scotland was a good reason to limit visits. She had no idea how long she might be away. It worried her but she tried to push such thoughts to the back of her mind. Her family would cope, just like everyone else's family had to cope at times like these. They had, of course, been used to her living away from home during the past two years since joining the Auxiliary Territorial Service although she had gone home on leave as much as she could.

When she had joined the ATS at the start of 1941 George's mother had been worried that her daughter's choice wasn't entirely respectable and her father had heard tales of the nickname given to some young women in the service; "Officer's groundsheets" he had whispered under his breath to his wife, Genevieve. The shock on her face had convinced Max to try, unsuccessfully, to talk George out of her decision.

"Do you think I'm some sort of dimwit or something, Dad?"

The incredulous expression on his daughter's lovely face at the suggestion that she might fall prey to the advances of some arduous solider caused him to waver for a moment. As much as he had no doubt she would attract attention he also knew her well enough to know she was no pushover. It would take more than a bit of flattery to steal her heart. She could stand on her own two feet and was a match for any young man, with her quick wits, her strength of mind and determination, not to mention a physique that had allowed her out-run any boy at school. _Catch her if you can_ Max thought to himself and tried not to smile as he wondered if the ATS was ready for the young woman who would shortly to be heading their way.

George had certainly been no dimwit when it came to military training. She had sailed through basic training and excelled at drill and PT whilst also showing considerable aptitude for all the practical aspects of military life. After passing out she found herself assigned to Anti-Aircraft Command and posted to a training station where she and her fellow recruits learned how to man an ack-ack gun. There had been a month long theory course on which they had been taught the fundamentals of optics, magnetism, wind thrust and geometry as well as aircraft recognition. They had then received another month's posting to a coastal training site to practise and perfect their skills on targets before being handed their first operational posting to man a gun battery on the south coast.

George enjoyed her work and the camaraderie of service life and felt that she was doing something worthwhile defending the local port during air raids. She had made good friends amongst her ATS colleagues and they had all made the most of the situation, doing their best to inject some fun into their lives, taking advantage of any social opportunities and, being based so near to a naval town, there had been plenty when they could get a pass into town to go dancing or visit the pictures.

George soon found that there were plenty of young men eager to take her out. She enjoyed their company but she had no intention of getting serious about any of them and that was what she told herself and them. She was good at maintaining the good-natured, cheerful veneer that those around her wanted to see. Times were bad for everyone and young men and women just wanted to be happy for a while and forget their troubles. Only one man had ever managed to peel away any of the layers and glimpsed the woman below the surface but it hadn't ended well and George had decided it was a lesson to her not to take a chance like that again with anyone. The unsettling disappointment had coincided with the sudden posting of her unit to the north east coast in late 1941. It had marked a distinct change not only in her life but in her attitude to the future.

A long cold winter on an exposed site, with only draughty wooden barracks for shelter and limited opportunities to travel into the nearest town had put a different perspective on the situation and by the summer of 1942, George was beginning to wonder if there was something else she could do for the war effort.

When Sergeant Morley had summoned her from the Mess one lunchtime in August stating that Captain Harris needed to see her George had immediately wondered whether she was in trouble. She couldn't remember having consciously done anything wrong but there were so many rules and regulations to be observed that she supposed it wouldn't be difficult to somehow fall foul of one and land yourself in hot water.

"I understand from your records that you speak French, Lane?"

George was taken by surprise. The question from her commanding officer was totally unexpected.

"Yes ma'am."

The Captain raised her eyebrows. She obviously hadn't expected that a fairly ordinary girl, the daughter of a high street butcher from Manchester, would have language skills.

"You speak it fluently?"

George nodded. "Yes, ma'am, my grandmother is…I mean, _was_ French. She passed away last year."

"I see. And you learned French from her?"

"Yes, ma'am. She lived with us and she didn't speak English. My mother prefers to speak English all the time, so we always spoke French with her."

Memories of her Grandmother flooded her mind. A widow, she had moved from France to live with Genevieve and Max when they had married at the end of the Great War. Max had been billeted with the Moreau family for a few months after the armistice of 1918 and he and Genevieve had fallen in love. Genevieve hadn't wanted to leave her mother alone and so she had come with them to make her home in Manchester. She had always been there as long as George could remember, sitting peacefully in the armchair by the fire, knitting, waiting for the Lane girls to come home from school, pleased to hear their chatter about the day, reading to them when they were small and teaching them old folk songs . The French accent of her Grandmother was as natural to George as the mancunian twang of her father and she grew up able to swap from one to the other with ease.

The Lanes were considered to be relatively wealthy amongst their peers as Max had progressed in his trade, taken the entrepreneurial step of establishing his own butcher's shop in the high street and as a result they had been fortunate to travel to France to visit Genevieve's family on several occasions during the long summer holidays, even spending the last long hot summer before the war there. The invasion of France however, had brought an end to such luxuries but worse it had left them with no news of their family's fate under German occupation.

"I've been asked to put forward the names of any personnel with language skills. I was wondering whether to submit your name, Lane." Captain Harris paused and George realised she was waiting for a response.

"What sort of work would it be ma'am?"

Captain Harris shook her head slightly, "I'm not sure, Lane, but I expect it's vital to the war effort. Would you be agreeable?"

George, remembered her father's advice to her as she had left for basic training on that cold January morning almost two years ago, "Don't volunteer for anything," and wondered if she ought to decline but thinking about life here at this remote coastal site, seeing dark clouds gathering in the distance and hearing the wind battering the windows with the prospect of another winter looming, couldn't help thinking that she might be better employed elsewhere. The thought of somehow using something as unexpected as her ability to speak French to help win the war was appealing even if she couldn't imagine what she might do apart from possibly translate documents. Her decision was made.

"Please put forward my name. Thank you, ma'am."

A couple of months had passed and she had almost forgotten about the exchange before she received orders to report to an address in Baker Street, London. When she arrived, after taking the overnight train from York, feeling tired from sleeping propped up in the corner seat of a carriage, hungry after nothing but some bread and margarine with a weak cup of tea purchased from the station buffet and feeling less than bright and breezy, she thought for a moment that there must be a terrible mistake. The address she had been given was just an ordinary looking block of flats but checking the letter again she was certain that she must be in the right place and pushed open the main door with a great deal of trepidation.

The commissionaire at the ground floor desk, however, seemed to be expecting her and after taking her name she was asked to sit in the hall and wait for some time until he received a phone call and told her to make her way up to the fourth floor. She knocked at the door of flat number eight and was surprised that it was answered by a young army captain. He invited her into one of the rooms. She assumed that it must once have been a bedroom but it was now devoid of any carpets or soft furnishings and contained nothing but a table and two chairs. She had the distinct impression that she could hear the quiet hum of other voices in the background and wondered if she was not the only person being interviewed here in such an odd manner.

The officer had begun by making general enquiries about her military service and background and then quite suddenly launched into French asking her many detailed questions about her family, her knowledge of France and her views on the political situation both before the war and since the occupation. George had been surprised at this change but had replied freely, fluently and without reserve and was honest about not holding any political beliefs both before or after the war had started. Although when asked how she felt about the current occupation of France she was very clear.

"I hate to think of my family there now in such a dreadful situation. I wish there was something that I could do to help them"

The officer leaned towards her. "What sort of thing would you be prepared to do?"

George had shrugged. "Well, I can't fight or fly an aeroplane but I'd do anything else that would help."

The realisation that there was a potential role for her working in secret in occupied France had initially neither thrilled nor terrified her. She had viewed it rather dispassionately as another option to be considered. It was only much later as her training progressed that she began to appreciate the dangers of the job and to think seriously of how she might cope if the worst happened. She knew, however, she was under no obligation to continue. At any point during the months that followed her acceptance onto the agents training course, she knew she could have changed her mind and walked away without any blame. Every agent was a volunteer. A motley bunch of men and women of differing ages and all with differing motivations for being there but seeing them day in day out, putting their heart and soul into their training, knowing that each believed that they could help to bring the war to an end, spurred George on, even when the going was tough and it was tough in ways she had not expected.

George had always being physically fit and the fitness sessions, regular cross-country runs, weapons handling and self-defence instruction had come easily to her but she had not expected the mental challenges that came with covert work. From the moment she arrived at the secret training location French had been spoken the entire time and everyone used codenames. At first it had seemed strange not to introduce yourself properly and talk about your real life but she soon adapted. Training in covert activities included learning to move around undetected at night and knowing how to shake off someone following you and to check that you were not under surveillance. There were initiative tests aimed to make you think on your feet and adapt to rapidly changing circumstances, tasks that almost seemed like dares but soon became matters of pride to pass as they demonstrated the ability of potential agents to plan and carry through actions. There were also a whole range of briefings and sessions to attend on identifying the uniforms and ranks of German military personnel, the current political situation in France, social habits or the correct of way of ordering drinks in a café. The agents had to learn how to think, speak and behave in a way that would not arouse suspicion.

George often felt as if her head were spinning with so much information to remember and yet she felt challenged in a way that her previous work in the ack-ack unit had not challenged her. She felt as if she had something to give that only she could do and despite the difficulties her resolve remained unchanged. The only time she had faltered slightly and wondered if she was doing the right thing was when she had been subjected to a mock interrogation, having been dragged from her bed at two in the morning by men shouting at her in German. She had remembered to speak French, after so many weeks of speaking nothing else it had seemed natural to her, and had held out under a barrage of questions. It was then that she had learned the importance of telling a believable lie. The best lies were those that contained some truth. The more truthful the lie the easier it was to continue lying and George found to her surprise that she almost believed the stories herself. Her course instructors had been impressed not only with this ability to withstand interrogation but her performance across the board and reported her to be both resourceful and determined. It was with a sense of pride that George learned at the end of her time that she had passed the course and was being considered for an operational role as a courier in France.

When the call finally came advising her that she was to be deployed in the next two weeks George was granted a short period of leave to spend with her family. It had been a tricky few days. Naturally, her parents and sisters were full of questions about her new job in Scotland and her father in particular had thought it strange that she should be manning a gun site so far north when there were more obvious targets in the south but she had avoided answering as much as possible and had used 'careless talk' as an excuse.

The hardest part had been taking leave of them almost with a sense of guilt knowing that she could tell them nothing. She knew that she was travelling into a dangerous situation and yet she had to smile and joke with her parents and make excuses about not being able to get home on leave for quite some time because of the distance and the trains. There would, of course, be letters and postcards from time to time to allay their suspicions. She had already written them, struggling to find new fictitious activities to describe and sometimes pausing to wonder what she would really be doing when her family received them. They would be posted from Scotland by personnel from F Section at regular intervals whilst she was away but she was almost thankful when the train arrived and she was able to embark and depart without having to tell any more lies.

There had been a couple of false starts before it had finally been confirmed that the mission was on and she had been driven to RAF Tempsford from where the light, single-engine Lysander would depart. There she was joined by a fellow agent who was to be sent with her. Louis, a wireless operator, would be joining her as part of the Maverick circuit in northern France. They had met at the 'Finishing School' but she knew that once they set foot in France their contact would be very limited. She would act as the go-between, relay messages back and forth between the circuit commander and other members but they would seldom meet in person or for very long if they did. It was as well that Louis seemed such a quiet unassuming man as the life of a wireless operator was the loneliest of all.

Before leaving they changed into authentic tailored French clothes and were issued with a suitcase of belongings, their false identity papers and ration cards and French currency, given a final check to remove any incriminating evidence of their non-French origins before being treated to a final dinner in the company of one of their F Section officers. Within little more than an hour they were climbing into the Lysander and it was taxiing away from the hangar.

The flight had been uneventful and within an hour and a half the pilot instructed them to prepare for landing. Below, George could see the small flashes of hand held torches indicating the landing strip and knew there would be a local welcoming committee anxiously awaiting them. She felt the nervous flutter of butterflies in her stomach but it was too late now to change her mind. The months of training were over and it was now that she had a job to do, a serious and very dangerous job.

The light aircraft floated down into the darkness landing with a gentle bump onto the grass field, rolling along for only a short distance before it slowed and started to taxi towards a waiting party. No sooner had it come to a stop then someone was there pulling open the door and hands reached out to help George down. Louis passed out her suitcase before handing out his own bags and climbing down to join her. As they hurried away from the aircraft they were passed by someone moving in the opposite direction, heading towards the Lysander, a man carrying a bag. He didn't look in their direction or say a word before he climbed into the aircraft and in no more than a minute it was taxing away from them preparing to take off and return to England.

They hurried away from the landing strip as quickly and quietly as possible accompanied by a burly, middle-aged man with a moustache who introduced himself as Jacques.

"We'll take you to the farmhouse to meet Phillipe. It's about half a kilometre from here. Stay close to me."

George followed behind him suddenly acutely aware of everything around her, all her senses heightened to the invisible danger. They crept through the woods that had bordered the landing site for what seemed far longer than the ten minutes or so it had taken before reaching a clearing. Buildings loomed up out of the darkness and Jacques told them to wait whilst he ventured forward. George looked nervously towards Louis, wondering if his thoughts matched her own. She couldn't help fearing that it might be trap. She had no idea whether they were about to be lured into an ambush. Louis said nothing but she could hear him breathing unsteadily next to her and felt sure he was feeling just as nervous.

A few minutes later Jacques reappeared and beckoned to George and Louis to move forward. They followed him across to the buildings and were let into the farmhouse. It was dimly lit within. There was just one bare bulb overhead and the room was filled with the aroma of cooking, something distinctly French which made George feel strangely nostalgic, remembering other happier times in France. She stood behind Jacques and Louis and was aware that there were a couple of other men at the far end of the room talking quietly together with their backs to her. One, a tall, slim, dark-haired man was listening to another man who was shorter, older and from the few words she could catch, appeared to be arguing with him over some point. Jacques stepped forward and Louis followed him but George decided to stay by the door. She was still being cautious and wanted to be able move quickly and get out of the room without hindrance if necessary.

As Jacques and Louis approached she saw the tall man turn slightly, reach out to shake Louis by the hand. Jacques said something and then he turned back to look at her. The light was poor and she couldn't make him out with any clarity. He moved quickly towards her and placed himself in front of the harsh light of the bare bulb. She looked up and squinted slightly to make him out. His hand reached out to grasp hers and then as he leaned towards her and his lips brushed her left cheek in the traditional French greeting she heard the fierce whisper of a very familiar voice as his mouth moved close to her ear.

"What the hell are you doing here?"


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thank you for all the kind reviews to Chapter One._**

 **Chapter Two**

Emile Harte stared at the young woman before him in utter disbelief, disbelief bound up with more than an ounce of irrational pleasure which almost immediately turned to concern when he considered the circumstances in which they were meeting again. George's brow was furrowed as she looked up, squinting in the poor light and he realised that she hadn't recognised him yet but he knew there would be no escaping the moment that must follow and wished fervently that it hadn't been here and now after almost two years of silence. He leaned towards her faking the normal French greeting of a kiss on each cheek as he whispered in English, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Startled by the familiar voice, her eyes flew open and she turned her head sharply, her face brushing against his. He took in the scent of her hair and momentarily closed his eyes recalling other times. The fierceness of her reply matched his initial question, even though she spoke so quietly that only he could hear the words.

"I can't believe you've got the nerve to ask me that."

Emile thought better of saying any more and drew back from her.

"Phillipe."

He introduced himself by his codename even though he knew it was pointless. She already knew him far too well.

She took his hand and regarded him with hostility. "Madeleine."

He raised his eyebrows slightly in response and, stupidly amused by the name, fought to suppress a smile although seeing a look of annoyance cross George's face he feared for a moment that she might slap him. Almost as soon as the amusement passed he acknowledged with the experience borne of command, the difficulties this situation could pose. The sound of conversation between the three men behind him masked his next comment.

"I should get you sent back straight away."

She glared at him in astonishment and anger. "On what grounds?

He stared back at her. Even in this poor light, with her hair unkempt and seeing her dressed in such an unusual ensemble she was the same fierce, spirited, determined woman he remembered. He shouldn't have been surprised to see her here. It was the just the sort of outfit a woman like her would volunteer to join. Why would he expect her to be any different to himself? Hadn't his own restlessness and sense of purpose motivated him to put himself forward for this work. What was clear right now, however, was that whatever there had once been between them had passed a long while ago and it was obvious from the look in George's eyes that there was no room here for personal sentiment. She was right. He had no grounds to send her back at least none that he could freely admit. He took a deep breath and turned to call to his comrades behind him.

"Jacques, take Madeleine and Louis to the safe house."

He glanced once more at her. "Jacques will check your identity papers and give you details of how to contact me."

He turned away from her and left the room but he was sure she was watching him. He could feel her eyes boring into his back as he shut the door to the farmhouse behind him. As he made his way quietly across the farmyard he found himself breathing deeply whilst memories of that last day together began to seep into his mind. He tried to push them away. He didn't need this right now. He needed to be professional and to separate himself from her and anything she had once meant to him. He wondered again if it would be better to dispatch her on the first Lysander out of here but then took pity on the poor pilot who would be desperate to turn his little aircraft around as quickly as possible and fly it out of whichever landing strip had been chosen for the task. He wouldn't want to be held up whilst someone attempted to bundle George into the aeroplane, no doubt unprepared to go quietly and kicking up a fuss.

 _George_. He had to forget that name, forget he had ever known her before or that there had been a life before this one. She was Madeleine now. He repeated the name to himself with emphasis. They were living in a very dangerous world and they couldn't afford any slip-ups.

As he continued on his way, creeping through the forest, scanning the darkness for any unexpected outlines and with his ears tuned-in for the sound of voices, footsteps or the crack of twigs underfoot his thoughts, despite his best intentions, inevitably strayed back to England and a life which had once contained George. He should have known that a girl like her would end up in a place like this.

The first moment he'd clapped eyes on her at the dance hall that Saturday evening more than eighteen months ago he knew she was different but he was also sure no one else could see it. He didn't deserve any praise for spotting that she was easily the most attractive girl in the room, plenty of others had seen that but he saw more. He saw energy, an independent mind and a girl who wouldn't be easily tamed, not that he felt the slightest inclination to do so. From the very first moment she opened her mouth and told him with her mancunian charm to, "Shove off. I don't dance or go out with Brylcreem Boys," he knew he had fallen for her. She'd remained true to her word and refused to dance with him all evening no matter what method of persuasion he had tried and it had intrigued him but when he'd finally caught up with her as she and her fellow ATS friends were leaving the dance hall he'd managed to extract one small concession from her, she had agreed to meet him the following day at a local café.

"It's not a date, so don't get any ideas" she had told him, "I've got to come into town and I'll have half an hour to kill."

She had been true to her word. It had been half an hour no more, no less but it had been worth it. He had introduced himself properly.

"Flight Lieutenant Emile Harte."

"Why are you called Emile?"

She busied herself stirring her tea. He knew she was curious and trying to hide her interest but he remained serious.

"My mother was French

She seemed to notice the use of the past tense and risked a half-glance in his direction at this news so he added, "She died when I was eight and I went to live with my Grandparents in Paris until I left school and came back to England to live with my father."

Her eyelashes flickered at the news. "I'm surprised you didn't try to impress me by speaking French last night."

He thought he sensed a thawing of her attitude and leaned towards her over the table. "Would it have impressed you?"

She held his gaze. "No. I'm not that shallow."

He suppressed a smile. "Neither am I."

They talked more generally about their work. He told her a little of his role as a pilot in Coastal Command and she told him about life on the ack-ack battery. It was strange he thought as he watched her recalling anecdotes with such an animated expression, how he spent his time patrolling sectors out at sea, reporting on shipping movements and never firing a shot and she was the one in the thick of the action whenever there was an air raid as part of the team manning the big guns that tried to shoot down enemy aircraft. He knew it could be dangerous work and he admired her pluck and determination to do the job properly. She seemed to enjoy what she did and it only served to heighten his sense of dissatisfaction with his own contribution to the war effort. After half an hour, she glanced at her watch and announced, "Time's up, I've got to meet my transport or I'll be late and get into trouble." She stood abruptly and he scrambled to his feet as well, sorry that the meeting was over so soon.

"Would you like to go to the pictures next week?"

She frowned. "I told you I don't go out with Brylcreem Boys."

"I don't use Brylcreem."

George gazed at his short, dark, neat hair, swept to one side. He was telling the truth. There was no slicked-back style so favoured by his comrades in arms.

"You're still a pilot."

"Not the sort you're thinking of. I'm not shooting you any lines."

She pulled a face and he could tell she was struggling to find a reason to turn him down.

"What have you got to lose?"

She raised her eyebrows and he laughed. "No funny busy, George, I promise."

He saw her note the way he had shortened her name. She didn't seem to mind. She sighed. "Alright. Seven o'clock, Tuesday evening. The Roxy. Got it?"

"Yes. ma'am."

They parted outside the café. He was pleased she'd agreed to meet him again even if she had pretended she didn't really care. He wasn't fooled by her. He turned to go and had walked only a few steps before she called to him.

"Emile!" He turned his head to look at her. "Ne sois pas en retard! Tu n'auras pas de deuxieme chance!"

She saw the astonished expression on his face at the sound of her words and her faultless accent and she laughed, throwing her head back clearly enjoying his surprise, adding in English, "And I mean it."

He laughed too and shaking his head replied, "I don't doubt it for a minute."

She walked away and he stood there watching her. He exhaled and smiled a little ruefully at his miscalculation. She had fooled him already.

He'd always seemed to be at a loose end in those days and the arrival of George in his life was a very welcome diversion. Life on an RAF Coastal base was monotonous and he was itching for change. He'd been even more disenchanted since the departure of his friend and fellow pilot, Charlie James, although he hadn't been tempted yet to follow his example and make the move into bombers. He would have preferred fighters but the powers that be thought he was more use in Coastal. There had been some mutterings from on high that he was prone to the occasional impetuous act and they didn't trust him with a Spitfire. Even Charlie had once remarked, "Face it, Emile; they're not keen on mad bastards." Emile had been quick to point out that he was surprised anyone would trust Charlie with a bomber after that little escapade a long time ago involving a low level fly past and a Rear Admiral's daughter. Charlie had mellowed over time it seemed and Bomber Command was crying out for experienced pilots. He knew it was probably wrong to feel this way but he was restless for action.

The summer with George had helped him to forget some of his discontent. He loved their times together and realised very soon that he was in love with her. It wasn't the first time he had been in love but it was different this time. Her feelings, however, were harder to fathom. He didn't think it was a case of her playing hard to get, he thought it was probably a case of whether she really wanted to be caught at all. They went on regular dates, enjoyed each other's company, she had a good sense of humour and made him laugh as well as being able to take a joke at her own expense. He was sure she preferred his company to any other man's and yet there was something missing, a little piece of her that had just eluded him, part of her that wouldn't admit to her feelings until that very last day.

He paused in the darkness and listened to the breeze rustling the leaves high above him in the trees. For a moment it felt as if it had only been yesterday and he wanted her every bit as much as he had then but it was no good thinking that way. He had to put it behind him and be professional. He dragged his thoughts back to the work in hand. At least Henri had got away safely. It was vital that Emile's report made it back to London. They needed London's approval for their plans not to mention weapons and explosives. Hopefully, Jacques would drive their two new arrivals to the safe house and ensure they were hidden away before dawn provided they didn't run into any German patrols although there was no safer pair of hands for such a task than Jacques. As for himself he needed to get back to his safe house and had eight kilometres to cover on foot and off road if he wanted to be sure of no trouble. If he was lucky he could grab a few hours' sleep before he was due to depart for a rendezvous with the leader of the local communist cell. There were plenty in his group who detested the communists and argued against working with them, Maurice had been arguing just that point this evening at the farmhouse before the others had arrived but Emile knew they had no choice. They had a common purpose and a common enemy, at least for now, and it was his job to co-ordinate sabotage and the resistance groups in the area. He couldn't do that effectively without a courier and that would be George's job.

He stopped, sighed and shook his head. "Madeleine," he whispered under his breath and tapped himself on the side of the head just to reiterate the point. _Get it into your thick skull, Emile. It's Madeleine._

X-X-X-X

The engine of Jacque's van as it drove along the deserted roads in the darkness was noisy to George's ears and she was certain that it must attract notice being out here on its own long after curfew. She couldn't help thinking she would have preferred to walk but Jacques had told them it was too far to make it to the safe house on foot before dawn and the sight of strangers on the road with luggage so early in the morning would be far more of a risk than one van in the middle of nowhere. They travelled by a circuitous route and reached the house on the outskirts of the town within twenty minutes.

"You'll have to stay here for a day or two until I can get your papers sorted," Jacques informed them as he switched off the engine.

To their dismay both George and Louis had been informed by Jacques at the farmhouse that their identity papers would not pass muster.

"They're too good," he said with a shrug. "The quality of the paper is far too good. Any German at a checkpoint would spot that. I'll get you new papers but it will take a little while."

Louis had looked alarmed. "But I have to make my sched. London will be expecting me to report our safe arrival."

Jacques looked unconcerned, "They'll have to wait unless you want to risk arrest the first time you set foot outside on your own."

There was nothing Louis could say but accept the advice even though he was loathe to offer up his papers to someone he had only just met but he and George realised they had no choice but to trust Jacques.

"Phillipe said you would tell me how to contact him." George said as she handed over the papers.

Jacques looked her up and down and shook his head slightly.

"The first rule here is don't tell anyone anything that they don't need to know. The less anyone knows the better. When I've got your papers I'll tell you where to contact him. Understood."

George nodded. His words had impressed upon her the deadly seriousness of this situation. She thought when she left England she knew what she was getting herself into but the reality was something different.

Sitting in the back of Jacque's van on the way to the safe house, George realised that she could have had absolutely no idea what a difficult situation she was walking into and she had been able to think of nothing else but the moment she had seen Emile at the farmhouse. How she had contained her shock she had no idea. It was stupid but she had never once considered the possibility that he might be in France. He was an RAF pilot and despite the fact there had been no contact between them for almost two years she had always assumed that he would still be flying aeroplanes, if he was still alive. Her reaction to his question had been instinctive and she wished she had exercised more control. Emile must have been equally surprised, having no idea she would be his new courier and from the tone of his voice it was a very unwelcome surprise. He couldn't wait to get out of the room.

George had tried very hard to forget about Emile Harte and thought she had done a reasonably good job of it. The change of scene when her unit was posted up north had helped but she had never managed to banish the memory of him entirely. Every time she had met anyone new on the rare occasions she had gone to a dance or had a drink in the pub with her friends the shadow of Emile had hung over her. She held every man at arms' length and didn't trust anyone. She knew what some people said about ATS girls and there had been moments in private when she had blushed in shame and remembered her father's concern. She knew it was going to be difficult but the injustice she felt in her heart at Emile's treatment of her, told her not to give way. There was only person who owed any explanations or apologies and it wasn't her.

X-X-X-X

George gazed out of the bus window and watched the countryside flying past in a blur. She wasn't familiar with this part of France. Her own family lived in the Pas de Calais and she had mostly spent her summer holidays at the coast enjoying lazy days on the beach when the weather was warm enough. This landscape was all new to her but she hoped the lack of familiarity didn't show in her face and, in spite of being on tenterhooks as she travelled to the town of Sainte Martin, she appeared at ease. It was her first rendezvous since her arrival four days ago. Yesterday, Jacques had returned to the safe house with new papers for both her and Louis and later that day her colleague had departed on a bicycle with his wireless set in the hidden compartment of the suitcase strapped to the luggage rack at the back. She had whispered a prayer under her breath as she watched him leave hoping he would make it safely. She didn't know where he would be living but she knew several locations to leave and collect messages. He had said he would contact London as soon as he could find a suitable place to transmit and inform them of their arrival.

Jacques had then taken George part of the way to the town of Bellecourt and after giving her directions for another safe house had left her to walk the final couple of kilometres into town. When she had found the house on a quiet street and knocked tentatively at the door she had been surprised to see it opened by a rosy-cheeked young woman with a baby perched on her hip who had eyed her with caution until George had informed her, "I'm Cousin Yvette from Lyons." The woman had given her a small, tight smile and quickly ushered her into the house then introduced herself as Mathilde. She had showed her to a small, clean but sparsely furnished room at the rear of the house. George looked through the net curtains and noted that the house wasn't overlooked which was good. She also checked the easiest way to escape in a hurry. There was a small outhouse at the rear and she reckoned she could climb out of the window and drop down onto the roof if necessary.

Mathilde and her husband, Patrice, a railway engineer, were kind and welcoming but wisely asked no questions of their guest and George knew she should ensure her presence was an unobtrusive as possible. In any case she would not stay in any one place too long and would be away quite often. Her cover story was that of a sales representative for a medical supplies company which would enable her to travel freely with a legitimate reason to move from town to town in search of doctors' practices and pharmacies she could solicit for business. With trade being so difficult for everyone because of the war there would be less cause to question her need to travel widely. She had been given a small case of samples to carry about with her and business documents to ensure her story seemed authentic and was assured that the director of the company she purported to represent would vouch for her if enquiries were made.

When Jacques had brought George her new papers he had also brought a message that Phillipe needed to meet her and would be at the café on the square in Sainte Martin between ten and eleven o'clock the following day. A few days had passed since their arrival and she supposed that it was time to get to work. She was sure that being active would be better than sitting around waiting for time to pass but even so she was uncertain how it would feel to work alongside Emile. The shock of running into him again here, of all places, had passed but her feelings towards him had not. However, she knew she would have to learn to live with them.

The bus had reached the centre of Sainte Martin and the end of its route. It came to a stop and the remaining passengers stood and began to collect their belongings and make their way along the central aisle. The door opened and the first passengers stepped down but then instead of moving the queue seemed to stop. George craned her neck to see what was causing the hold-up and then to her dismay saw that a German officer accompanied by a soldier and a Gendarme were standing at the door of the bus and by the looks of it they were conducting a spot check on identity papers. Thinking of the new papers in her bag, George silently began to pray that the forgers knew their business and Jacques had been right about the paper needing to be replaced. The progress was painfully slow as the officer opened each set of papers, scrutinised the photographs of each person and asked a few questions in heavily accented French. By the time George stepped down she could almost hear her own heart beating but forced herself to appear calm and unconcerned.

The officer looked up at her for a moment and then returned his attention to her papers. She was sure he was examining them a little longer than anyone else's.

"Yvette Laurent?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"What brings you here today, business or pleasure?" He looked her straight in the eye and she forced herself to hold his gaze keeping her expression just soft enough not to seem confrontational. She hoped above all else that she looked as if she had nothing to hide.

"I'm meeting a friend." She knew at once that she had made a mistake by not preparing herself for an eventuality such as this and hoped he wasn't going to ask her the name of the friend or any other details.

"A lucky man." She couldn't decide from the officer's tone if he was fishing for information, flirting or making a joke but the last thing she wanted was to confirm it was a man she had planned to meet.

"Oh, no," she said with what she hoped was an embarrassed small laugh, "An old family friend."

"A pity," the officer replied and glanced in the direction of the next person leaving the bus.

A cry suddenly filled the air and out of the corner of her eye George spotted a commotion about thirty yards away. It looked as if a scuffle had broken out between two men on the other side of the road. The officer, the Gendarme and the soldier all turned away in curiosity and took a few steps before the Gendarme headed over to see what was going on and George seeing them all distracted decided it would be a good time to go. She walked away in the opposite direction moving as quickly as she reasonably could without appearing to hurry. She could still hear the scuffle going on as she reached the end of the street and turned the corner. She glanced behind her, saw no one and taking a couple of deep breaths proceeded on her way a little more slowly relieved that she was now out of sight of the bus.

She turned left into a tree-lined square. In the far corner she could see a café with tables and chairs arranged outside and sitting at one of the tables was Emile. He had a cup of coffee, or what passed for it these days, in front of him. He appeared relaxed but when his eyes swept the area she could tell he had noticed her approaching and forcing herself to put aside all her personal reservations about being here with him, she focused on the job she needed to do and strolled with as casual and unconcerned an air as possible towards him. She was about fifty yards away when she was suddenly halted in her tracks by the sound of boots rapidly approaching across the cobbled square behind her and an authoritative shout.

"Mademoiselle, wait!"

She turned her head a fraction startled by the harshness of the command and her heart almost stopped. The German soldier from the bus was marching purposefully towards her and it was obvious at once from the expression on his face that the situation was serious.

* * *

 _ **Apologies to any French speakers out there for any grammatical errors - its been a long time since school!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Emile had been sitting at the table outside the café in Sainte Martin for more than an hour. George was late but he knew only too well that transport was unreliable these days and he had waited longer for a contact in the past. He had been to this café before but not for a while and couldn't help thinking that the two cups of coffee he had drunk were even worse than the last time he was here. He tried not to make of habit of using the same places too often but it had been convenient to meet here today. He had information for George that he needed her to relay to Louis. It was urgent information and he hoped the wireless operator had found somewhere safe from which to transmit.

During the past few days Emile had been too busy to think much about George and he was glad. He had kept his mind on the job in hand and that was by far the safest way to be. Even waiting here in the square on such a lovely day he still couldn't allow himself the luxury of day dreaming. He was ever alert to potential danger as he had soon learned that you could trust none but your closest associates. Whilst the vast majority of citizens tried to simply go about their own business without impacting on anyone else there were others willing to betray strangers, colleagues, friends and even members of their own family for a whole variety of reasons amongst which money and personal grudges often mattered more than the rights and wrongs of this war.

It was almost with a jolt of sudden recognition that Emile noticed George when she finally appeared in the square. It was stupid to be surprised at the sight of her even though he had been expecting it but he knew he was still struggling with the idea that she was here and although he couldn't change it he wished that she wasn't. However, he was relieved that she had made the rendezvous without mishap and glad to see that she was approaching with caution but affecting a reasonably casual air. She had clearly learned well at the 'Finishing School'. He had work for her to do and he couldn't waste any longer sitting here. He was about to raise his hand and affect the scenario of a man greeting his lover which he had decided would be appropriate in the circumstances when he saw a German soldier round the corner at pace and start hurrying across the square. He realised within seconds that the man was in pursuit of George but she hadn't noticed him yet.

Emile felt his nerves become taut as he anticipated the moment the German soldier would draw level with George and already he was sizing up the situation, visibly checking the exits from the square and wondering if the soldier would pull out a gun. He hadn't done so yet and Emile, unarmed as it was too risky when in town, evaluated the build of the man and reckoned that if he moved quickly he could probably knock the soldier down with the element of surprise on his side. It might be enough of a distraction for himself and George to get out of here before reinforcements arrived.

He waited, anticipating what might follow and then the soldier shouted at George to wait. She stopped in evident surprise and turned her head towards the man and in that same moment Emile also froze. Then the soldier reached out his hand to her and seemed to be offering her something. Emile caught a few words that sounded like, "Your papers," and saw George affect what appeared to be a grateful smile. She took the papers from him, said something else and the soldier replied looking stern. Then to Emile's relief he saw the man turn and walk back in the direction from which he had come. George put the papers in her handbag and continued towards the café. He could see the relief in her eyes and knew that it matched his own.

As George arrived at the café, Emile stood up, placed some money on the table and made to walk past her in the narrow space between the chairs, brushing against her slightly as she drew level with him.

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle." He then lowered his voice as he side-stepped past her adding, "Fifteen minutes, the church, last pew on the right."

If George was surprised at this sudden change of plan nothing showed in her face. She barely looked in Emile's direction before seating herself at an empty table, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs in a casual manner that showed her to be entirely unconcerned. Despite the disquieting scene that had just taken place, Emile was impressed at her sang-froid but he wasted no time and strolled away intending to take a slow meandering route to the church looking out for any stooges en-route. He was impressed by the way she had handled herself just now but he had other less favourable thoughts on what had passed and had every intention of telling her later.

X-X-X-X

"Why did you tell me to come here?"

George was sitting in the pew at the back of the church having entered a few minutes ago. When she had entered from the bright light outside into the quiet, cool, darkness within she had struggled for a moment to take in her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She had waited a little longer than the fifteen minutes Emile had suggested, after ordering a coffee and feeling she should look as if she was not in a hurry. Never having been to Sainte Martin before she needed time to get her bearings but hearing the bell from the church toll a few minutes later, she was able to gauge the direction in which to walk when she left the café. She was careful and made sure to check she was not being followed before entering the church. It appeared to be empty and not knowing what else to do she simply bowed her head to the altar and slipped into the final pew, opened a prayer book and gave every appearance of being in silent contemplation

A minute later, Emile, who had evidently been waiting out of sight, slipped into the pew and sat a few feet away.

"I couldn't risk staying at the café after that incident," he whispered, "They might have been watching. What happened just now?"

George was loathe to tell him the mistake she had made in her haste to get away from the bus but Emile had witnessed the aftermath and there was no hiding her lack of thought. "I forgot to take my papers at the checkpoint. The solider brought them back and told me to be more careful."

Emile was scornful. "He's right you must be more careful. You can't afford to do things like that. You won't be so lucky next time."

"I know," George replied through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry."

He heard the anger in her voice and risked a glance at her. She was angry with herself he could see it in the set of her jaw as she stared, unseeing, at the prayer book in her hands. She was right to be angry but it hadn't been all bad and he took pity.

"You handled it well." He paused. "You handled _him_ well."

"Don't patronise me."

"I'm not."

He hadn't meant it to sound that way but George had formed her opinion and he knew it was pointless to continue. He turned to the matters in hand.

"I have a message for Louis. It's imperative that he sends it on his next sched."

He slowly passed a small piece of wafer-thin paper along the pew. "You know what to do with this?"

She turned her head a fraction and he caught the annoyed look in her eye that told him it wasn't necessary to ask her. She reached out to take the paper and he grasped her by the wrist, his fingers tightening as she sought to pull her hand back.

"This isn't a game. It has to work, Madeleine."

She stared at his hand around her wrist and felt conflicting emotions. She had spent a long time trying to erase his memory from her mind and sometimes she thought she had succeeded but just the contact from the pressure of his hand around her wrist was unsettling her. For every time she had told herself she detested him there had still been a whisper that told her she was wrong but this situation was very different. He was the Circuit Commander and no matter what she thought of him she had to do what was asked of her without question and without causing any conflict. Real lives depended upon her.

She looked him in the eyes. "It _will_ work."

He let go of her wrist and she quickly folded the note and put it away in her handbag, placing it in a hidden compartment at the bottom. She made as if to stand up and leave but Emile stopped her.

"There's something else."

She waited without looking at him.

"I need you to go to Granville tomorrow, collect a package and bring it back."

He could see that George was thinking about this. Granville was a large, industrial town about forty kilometres from here and she knew she would need to use the train to travel there.

"Go to the Pharmacy in Rue des Cloches, near the Hotel de Ville and ask to see the Pharmacist, Monsieur Robert. Tell him you have come to collect the Medicine for Madame Joubert. He'll give you the package and you need to bring it to the Clement farm at La Chapelle. You'll find it just beyond the crossroads to the west of the village."

"What's in the package?"

Emile gave a half-smile and inclined his head in a way that told George she shouldn't ask. It was a look she knew well and in that same moment it reminded her so acutely of other times when he had been teasing her and trying to be evasive about something but then it would have ended with them both laughing, with him pulling her into his arms and kissing her. Her heart seemed to beat a little more quickly and more painfully at the memory but the serious look had returned to Emile's face.

"Just bring it back as soon as you can and…" he hesitated as if he wasn't sure whether to say anymore, "be careful."

George glanced at him wondering if he simply couldn't help being concerned for her in spite of everything that had gone before. He was watching her but when he saw her eyes turned on him he added, "For everyone's sake. It's important."

She nodded feeling annoyed with herself for even thinking something as stupid as that at a moment like this. None of this was about her and Emile was letting her know as much.

George rose and walked away as quietly as she could, her feet lightly tapping on the flagstone floor. Emile remained in the pew, head bowed, listening to the sound of her footsteps. He heard the heavy church door open and close with a small echo and he remembered another day, a world away from here, when she had left him. He hadn't known then that when the door closed behind her it would be the last time he would see her. For a few moments he wished he could talk to her and tell her the truth of what had happened but he was afraid to raise the subject here and now. The next few weeks would be crucial for the circuit's plans. If Henri was successful in getting the backing he hoped from London, they would be working flat-out. He had been in France for more than four months and he had put all his energies and concentration into his work. It was challenging and the dangers were unremitting and there was no room for anything personal. It would be wrong to say anything now as much for her sake as his own. He raised his head from his mock devotions and staring ahead, seeing light flooding through the large stained glass windows in the distance illuminating the altar, he offered up a real and silent prayer. _Let all be well in the world._

X-X-X-X

The express train to Granville was crowded and George had been unable to find a seat. She stood in the corridor with other passengers, acutely conscious of a small contingent of German soldiers at the end of the carriage near the door. She was still finding it difficult to see enemy soldiers on what seemed like every street corner even though the vast majority showed no more interest in her than they would in any pretty girl they happened to see passing. She wished right now that she could move away because she had seen one or two looks thrown in her direction and heard a few comments accompanied by some raucous laughter that made her feel uncomfortable. She recalled one of the instructors at the 'Finishing School' remarking that her looks could work both ways and at the time she hadn't been sure what he meant but now she realised that he was referring to the fact that she might attract notice. Her best hope, however, was to use her appearance to her advantage and to deflect suspicion as much as she could. She tried to avoid eye contact with the soldiers and in any case she was aware that the majority of her fellow passengers would be bearing their disgust at the presence of their conquerors with silent stoicism and it wouldn't be wise to behave any differently.

The return journey, yesterday, from Sainte Martin had, thankfully, been uneventful and George had left the message for Louis at an agreed drop. She knew he would check all the drop locations later and collect and transmit the message. Any reply would be returned for her to collect and relay on to Emile.

The train was slowing on its approach to Granville and George focused her mind on what she needed to do. She could obtain directions for the Hotel de Ville at the station and find Rue des Cloches from there. She would, however, need to take her time and check out the area before committing to entering the Pharmacy. As Granville station came into view George could see it was a busy place with passengers crowding the platform waiting to board as the express train continued on its way south to Lyons. It appeared that the soldiers at the end of the carriage were not disembarking here as they showed no signs of preparing to leave. As it came to a final stop George realised that she had no option but to make her way to the exit from the carriage, pushing past the small group as she did so. There was laughter and some jostling at her appearance and despite the fact that she wanted to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction she forced herself to smile politely and utter, "Excuse me." To her embarrassment one of the soldiers, in a show of bravado and mock gallantry, decided to jump down onto the platform and offer his hand to her as she stepped down. She was loathe to play along but forced herself to take the proffered hand and utter a shy, "Thank you," before walking away without looking back.

Ahead she could see a queue forming and realised there would be yet another check on the papers of passengers. It was inevitable in the larger towns and she thought about the reason she was here and the fact that, all being well, she would be returning in possession of a very important package. The last thing she wanted was to be stopped and questioned on departure or arrival anywhere else. There was another much quieter station a few kilometres further up the line at Vercourt and she decided there and then not to risk coming back through here. She could pick up a slower local train from a quieter station.

The queue moved slowly but on this occasion the officer checking the papers gave no more than a cursory glance at them before handing them back to George. She walked out through the station buildings and seeing a newspaper stand outside the main entrance asked directions for the Hotel de Ville. She was relieved to hear that it wasn't far but set out at a leisurely pace, ensuring that she stopped every so often to browse in shop windows and check in the reflection that no one was following her. She crossed the street a couple of times and on one occasion she paused, bending over to remove an invisible stone from her shoe whilst taking a surreptitious look around her. She spotted no signs of anyone in pursuit and on reaching the Hotel de Ville she continued walking until she found the turning on the right which lead to Rue des Cloches. Halfway down the street she could see the pharmacy.

George strolled along the road passed the pharmacy and glanced in through the window as she did so. She could see a young woman behind the counter but no sign of a man. She continued along the road stopping to look at the dull and dilapidated displays in a few other shop windows whilst weighing up what to do next. She hadn't been told any time to arrive and assumed that Monsieur Robert would be sure to be present all day knowing that someone would be arriving to collect the package. She carried out a few more security checks until satisfied that all seemed in order she decided to return to the pharmacy and risk entering.

The shop was empty of any other customers when she opened the door and she was glad of it. The young, fair-haired woman behind the counter looked up and smiled a welcome and George asked tentatively, "Could I speak to Monsieur Robert, please?"

The woman looked concerned, "I' m sorry, he's not well today."

George was slightly thrown by this and her mind started turning over the possibilities. This could be code for the fact that he wasn't here because he had been arrested although surely the woman could have said something more obvious if that was the case. Alternatively, she might be working for the Germans knowing that someone would be calling to see Monsieur Robert and they could be waiting to arrest George if she asked for the medicine for Madame Joubert. Her inclination was to make an excuse and walk away but she wondered if leaving without saying anything else might be more suspicious. She thought she could safely venture one further question before leaving and then she could decide what to do next.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you think he'll be better tomorrow?"

"Was it something urgent?" The woman asked.

George hesitated. The woman hadn't answered her question. George looked at the neutral expression on the other woman's face. She couldn't tell if she was hiding anything. Was it possible that she was pressing George to utter the incriminating words? She tried another tack.

"It's a personal matter." She leaned over the counter in what she hoped was a gesture that conveyed embarrassment and lowered her voice, "a small personal problem…I'm sure you know the sort of thing I mean."

The woman nodded as if understanding her awkwardness. "I see. Wait here a moment."

She walked away from George to the rear of the shop and disappeared through the curtains leading to the back. George had no idea what she had gone to do and instinctively she glanced to her left out of the shop windows to check if there was anyone outside. The pavement was clear. She could see no one walking towards the shop or standing across the road watching and there were no cars parked nearby but that didn't preclude the possibility that Abwehr officers were waiting in the back of the shop. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she wondered once again whether to run and then she heard the woman call.

"Papa, there's a customer in the shop who needs to speak to you."

George glanced again towards the street. A man in an overcoat and black hat was crossing the road heading towards the shop but there was still time to walk out of here if she was quick. She was paralysed by uncertainty. She could be about to ruin everything or she could be about to save herself.

The curtain at the back of the shop parted and a tall, grey-haired man in his fifties with a slight stoop stepped through. From the moment George saw him it was obvious to her that he wasn't well and when he spoke she could hear that he was clearly suffering from a very heavy cold. She hid her relief and immediately apologised for making the poor man get up to see her.

"I'm so sorry to see that you are not well, Monsieur Robert."

The man shook his head. "It's no matter. My daughter, Louise, is very protective of me." He smiled at her and she saw kindness in his eyes. "How can I can I help you, Mademoiselle?"

"I'm here to collect the medicine for Madame Joubert."

A realisation of why she had been so insistent upon seeing him dawned at once. He nodded at her. "One moment. I'll fetch it for you."

He disappeared behind the curtain and once again George glanced to her left and saw to her dismay that the man in the overcoat was at the door of the shop about to come in. He seemed to be alone and she couldn't see anyone else nearby not that this was any guarantee of his innocence. He entered the shop and nodding at George said, "Good morning, Mademoiselle."

George thought that she could hear the hint of an accent in his voice. He didn't sound French but she couldn't be sure. However, she replied automatically, "Good morning."

The man turned away and appeared to be browsing and George tried to look calm as she waited for Monsieur Robert to return. The curtains parted and the Pharmacist stepped through into the shop bearing a parcel that was much larger than George had anticipated. As he walked into the shop he took in the sight of the man who had just entered and casually called, "I will be with you in a moment, Monsieur."

He made his way around to George in an unhurried manner smiling as he reached her.

"Here we are." He placed the package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string onto the counter in front of George. "Be sure to remind Madame that she should take three spoonfuls of the syrup each morning and dilute one teaspoon of the other in water and take that before bed. "

George nodded. "Thank you, I will."

"There should be plenty there for a few weeks."

George opened her bag and began searching for her purse realising that to keep up the pretence she should appear to be paying for the medicines but Monsieur Robert stopped her. "I will put these on Madame's account."

George inclined her head. "Of course, thank you."

She closed her bag and lifted the package from the counter. It was heavier than she had expected and certainly heavier than a few bottles of medicine would be. However, she pretended that it was of little consequence and balanced it under one arm.

"Goodbye, Monsieur!"

"Goodbye!"

George turned away and could see the man in the overcoat waiting behind her watching the transaction. She took a few steps towards the door and heard Monsieur Robert address the man asking if he could help him with anything. As she opened the door she clearly heard the man ask for something to help with lumbago and shutting the door behind her breathed a sigh of relief.

However, any relief was short-lived. She still needed to negotiate the journey to the Clement Farm at La Chapelle and now she was carrying an awkward, heavy and conspicuous parcel. She glanced to her left and right checking once again that she could see nothing suspicious in the street before heading back towards the Hotel de Ville to find a bus that could take her to the village of Vercourt. If her first instinct on arriving at Granville had been not to risk travelling back from the station because of the security checks, the fact that she was now carrying an unwieldy package containing goodness knows what incriminating evidence, convinced her that she should take a different route and she set out determined to give herself the best possible chance of completing the task she had been given safely and successfully.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Many thanks for reading and for your reviews. I really appreciate your support for this story._**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

As the slow, local train chugged into the station at Vercourt the first drops of rain began to fall. George had been sitting on a bench on the platform for half an hour and had noticed that the sky was growing progressively darker, the wind was picking up and a storm was imminent.

The bus from Granville had deposited her outside the station after taking a slow, winding route through all the villages in the area. She might have enjoyed a little peace and quiet and the rural scenes had she not been conscious the whole time of the parcel in the shelf above her head. Thankfully, there had been little to concern her during the journey from the other passengers: housewives with small children, an elderly couple, several workers in overalls on their way home from shifts at one or other of the factories in Granville and a travelling salesman on the way to an appointment. People had come and gone but it had seemed strangely ordinary after the tension of her visit to the pharmacy this morning.

George had considerable leisure to think over the morning's events during the journey. She wondered if she had been over cautious and too concerned about the potential dangers of the situation to think clearly and yet she instinctively knew that it would always be this way whilst she was in France and she would have no choice but to live on her nerves. She had always been confident in herself and her own abilities but this was different. Confidence alone might not be enough to save her. She wondered how other agents had borne the stress of the situation for so long and her thoughts naturally strayed to Emile. Jacques had mentioned on the evening of her arrival in France that they were fortunate that Emile was an experienced leader, knew the ground well and had been here for some months already. It sounded as if he had been in the field more than once and after being here less than a week herself she couldn't imagine how anyone could cope for that long. She wondered for a moment how much she had ever really known Emile before. Two years ago she had thought him just another pilot living for today and to hell with tomorrow. There had been nothing serious about him although she had never known him at any time other than when he was off duty and up for fun and a good time. The little she had seen of him here in France was very different not just because of the dangers. She supposed that this was the professional Emile, the one she had never met before, the other side of the coin. It wasn't easy to reconcile these two men in her mind but for now there was only one on show and however awkward she felt she must learn to work with him.

By the time the train drew into Vercourt it was already late afternoon and George, in her desire to be away from Granville as soon as possible, had not stopped to eat and she could feel her stomach rumbling with hunger. However, she was determined to press on until she had managed to deliver the parcel and let nothing delay her. Whilst waiting on the platform she had decided that it might be safer to stow the parcel away on an overhead rack in one of the carriage compartments and stand out in the corridor within sight of it but with the advantage that in the event of trouble she could walk away and leave it as it would be much safer than being caught with something incriminating in her possession.

As the train came to a stop with a screech of brakes a few other passengers joined George on the platform and, as the rain had started to fall more heavily, they all hurried to climb aboard. George walked along the corridor looking for a suitable compartment in which to deposit her parcel but they all contained passengers and it now struck her how odd she might seem leaving her parcel but not sitting down herself. Then, when she was half way along the carriage, she spotted what looked like an empty compartment and pulled back the sliding door. However, as soon as she stepped into the doorway she realised her mistake. Sitting in the corner out of her sight was the single occupant and the reason for it seeming empty. A smartly dressed German officer was lounging in the corner seat. He turned his head at the sound of the door opening and took in the sight of a very attractive dark-haired young woman bearing an awkward parcel under her arm and looking exceedingly surprised by his presence.

George, horrified by her bad luck, hesitated before saying a hasty, "Oh, excuse me," and turned to go before being stopped by him calling after her in very good French, "Please, join me Mademoiselle. As you can see there is plenty of room."

She looked at him and couldn't help noticing that he was the Teutonic image of handsome: tall and broad shouldered, blonde-haired, blue-eyed and in possession of strong even features. His uniform was pristine but worst of all she could tell from the flashes on his collar that he was a Major in the Abwehr, the very organisation responsible for gathering counter-intelligence and tracking down and capturing agents like herself. She couldn't imagine a worse place to be at this moment but told herself she must play her part and be whatever he assumed her to be. He would expect her to be nervous and feel awkward and in the circumstances it wasn't difficult to pretend.

"If you're sure," George said quietly in response to his invitation, glancing shyly in his direction.

He smiled and gestured to the seat opposite, "I insist."

George stepped into the compartment and raised the parcel over her head to place it in the rack just as the train began to move. She stumbled slightly and the officer stood up at once and to her horror reached out to lift the parcel from her hands before placing it in the rack for her.

"Thank you."

"It's heavy, mademoiselle. What's in it?"

It sounded a good-natured enough enquiry but there was no way George felt she could tell him it was medicines and hope that he would accept that they would weigh so much.

"It's a gift, some bottled fruits for a friend."

"A very fortunate friend," he remarked and George hoped he wouldn't ask her to open it. Judging from his polite manner she guessed he wouldn't be so rude as to make that suggestion without any reason. She sat down diagonally opposite him and looked to her left into the corridor hoping against hope that he would leave the train at the next station but at the same time realising it was unlikely. He was probably heading to the main station at Beaumont. Unfortunately, it would be at least another half an hour before they reached La Chapelle where she was intending to alight and go on to the Clement farm. As if reading her thoughts he asked, "Are you travelling far, Mademoiselle?"

At once she decided not to get off the train at her intended destination. She didn't want the officer to know anything about where she was heading and named the station before La Chapelle.

"To Courcelles."

He raised his eyebrows in evident surprise, "A happy coincidence. I'm heading to Courcelles, myself. A new posting."

George fought hard to affect an interested expression when all she could think was that fate was well and truly against her.

"Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Major Weber." He paused, "And may I ask your name?"

George was thrown into an immediate quandary. She hadn't really expected him to seek conversation with her but she had no choice but to give an answer and wondered for a second or two whether to give a false name but if for any reason he looked at her papers, and there was every possibility it could happen, he would be immediately suspicious or worse.

"Yvette Laurent."

"Charming!" He smiled at her again and she began to suspect that he had taken a shine to her.

"Tell me Mademoiselle Laurent, how do you like the countryside around here? Where do you recommend?"

George began to feel sick. It was as if this man knew how to test her. She had been here such a short time that she knew almost nothing of the area and she was determined not to mention anywhere she had already been. Then she hit upon an idea.

"To be honest, I don't know Courcelles well as I'm only a visitor. As I said, I'm going to see my friend."

He nodded, "Ah yes, of course."

There was silence for a minute or so and George hoped that was the end of the conversation but it appeared he was merely mulling it over before he asked, "Will you be staying with your friend tonight?"

George shrugged, "I don't know. It depends how much we have to talk about." She forced herself to make a joke, "You know how ladies can be when they get together."

He looked her in the eye, nodding slowly, "I see. Well, be sure not to forget about curfew Mademoiselle."

George shook her head doing her best imitation of innocence, "Of course not."

They lapsed into silence and as they did so George realised how stupid her answer had sounded. How could she be considering staying with her friend when she had nothing with her but a parcel and her handbag? She began to feel her story might unravel under any more questions and hoped he hadn't picked up on the inconsistencies. The last thing she wanted was any more questions on her imaginary friend and seeking to deflect matters she ventured one of her own.

"How do you find France, Major?"

He was clearly surprised she had addressed him but looked happy to answer. "It has changed."

George said nothing but thought what a stupid statement from someone who appeared to be intelligent and educated. How could France possibly be the same as it had been since the war began?

"I imagine that is obvious to you, Mademoiselle."

George tried not to blush. He really must have the ability to read her mind.

"The world is different for all of us, Major."

"Quite so but it doesn't follow that it has to be unpleasant."

"No." She didn't know what else to say.

"It's a shame you can't convince a few more of your compatriots to agree with you." George wasn't sure what he meant but stayed silent and he continued, "You know, I really don't _enjoy_ , for want of a better word, spending my time trying to find terrorists but it's my duty. What I want is a peaceful France, would you not agree?"

In spite of her fear given the situation it took every ounce of George's self-composure to maintain a neutral expression and not show her complete disgust at his words or retort that France had been peaceful until it was occupied.

"Everyone wants peace, Major."

He smiled at her. "I see we are of a like mind, Mademoiselle."

She forced herself to smile back at him and then to her relief he decided to conduct a monologue chiefly consisting of his memories of France before the war. He clearly was well-travelled and well-educated and had it not been for the circumstances she might have listened with some interest but her main interest was in seeing how long she could encourage him to keep talking by smiling, nodding and occasionally offering the odd word of appreciation. She was successful as she avoided having to answer any further questions and as the train finally drew in to Courcelles station George was relieved that the enforced tête-à-tête was almost at an end.

Glancing out of the window George could see that Courcelles was a small station and wondered if she could somehow hang back until Weber had left and then wait for the next train to take her on to La Chapelle. She didn't know the timetable and realised that it could be a long wait and if so it would make her even later than she had planned but she had no choice if she wanted to maintain her story. She rose from her seat preparing to leave as the train slowed down and Weber rose also. Before she had a chance to do so herself, Weber reached for the parcel above her head and to her horror tucked it under his arm and gestured to her to step out into the corridor before him. She walked slowly along the corridor towards the carriage exit thinking only of the parcel and imagining that Weber had been playing a very clever game with her all along and she was about to be arrested as she stepped down from the train.

A squall of wind and rain almost tore the handbag from George's shoulder as she climbed down onto the platform and waited for Weber to join her. The weather was worse than when she had set out half an hour ago and only added to her misery at this moment. She reached out to take the parcel from Weber's charge and prepared to thank him for his assistance but he showed no signs of intending to hand it over.

"I have a car outside. Please allow me to take you to your friend's house in such dreadful weather."

It was the last thing George could have wanted.

"It's really not very far. Please don't bother yourself."

Weber drew himself up to his full height and almost bowed in a gesture of gallantry, "It would be most ungentlemanly of me to allow a lady to walk in such weather with a heavy parcel. Please, I insist."

Inside George felt as if she were dying a slow, painful, suffocating death. This man was not to be shaken off and she really didn't know how much longer she could keep up the pretence before he realised she was lying. He was smiling at her and she forced herself to smile back at him.

"You're very kind, Major."

He took her arm and started to guide her along the platform and through the station. She was sure she could see people looking at her, judging and probably silently cursing her. She knew what French people thought of women who associated with the Germans but her concerns right now were less about name-calling by people who would despise her apparent fraternisation than how she was going to extricate herself from the latest problem this situation had created.

Outside the station a military staff car was indeed waiting for Major Weber with a driver already holding the door open. Weber handed the parcel to the driver and turning to George said,

"Please give my driver your friend's address, Mademoiselle Laurent."

George had no idea what to say, having never been to Courcelles before. She had the horrible feeling she was about to be discovered, her throat was dry and her palms sweating but she said the first thing that came into her head.

"It's not far. Just follow the road ahead and it'll be easier if I tell you when to stop."

Weber seemed to accept this and nodded at the man to follow her instructions. At his insistence she got into the back of the car and seated herself next to him. Now that he was closer to her she was aware of the scent of his cologne but allied with her impending sense of dread it only served to make her feel even more sick. As the car drove off she wondered for a moment whether to feign travel sickness and ask them to stop. If she timed things right she might be able to run off before they noticed but the moment she took to her heels the game would definitely be up. She gazed out of the window, listening to the sound of the windscreen wipers working at full speed to clear away the rain that was splattering the glass, wondering how far to let the car drive and when to tell the driver to stop until in the distance she noticed a fairly large, white house which appeared to be set back some way from the road with a driveway in front of it.

"Could you stop just up here by the white house, please?"

The driver slowed as they approached and started to turn into the driveway but George, concerned about a car pulling up outside a complete stranger's house and the scenes that might follow said hastily, "There's really no need to drive to the door, this is fine."

Weber looked surprised and as if he was about to protest but George had to stop him. "Please don't. My friend is a terrible gossip and my mother's bound to find out. It would be awkward, I'm sure you understand."

To her surprise and relief Weber seemed to accept this and asked the driver to stop at the top of the drive. The driver got out with her parcel and opened the passenger door for her. She was about get out believing she had finally escaped when Weber stopped her.

"It's a pity you're otherwise engaged this evening, Mademoiselle, unless of course you think you may be free later. If you were, I wonder if you'd allow me to take you out to dinner. Perhaps I could call by at about eight o'clock?"

It struck George that agreeing to his suggestion might be the best way to extricate herself from his company once and for all but to acquiesce without comment might surprise him.

"I'm really not sure that I will be able to go out but if you wish to call…." She glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes and hoped she looked suitably demure.

"Then I must take my chances," he replied with a smile, clearly not put off by her vague response.

George said no more. She took the parcel from the Weber's driver and set out towards the house praying that the car would drive away before she reached the front door and he was not going to wait. However, the car remained at the top of the drive and she knew Weber was watching her. She tried to walk as slowly as she reasonably could but the front door of the house was now only a few yards away and the moment of reckoning was fast upon her. For all she knew the house might be empty and if Weber saw her standing there in the rain for any length of time goodness knows how she would ever get rid of him. It was only as she reached the front door and pretended to knock at it that she heard the sound of the car reversing and then pulling away. She turned her head a fraction and was relieved to see it turn left and head back towards Courcelles. As it disappeared from view she finally breathed a huge sigh of relief but then seeing the twitch of a curtain from one of the windows at the front of the house she knew that she ought to get away from here as soon as possible. She had no idea who lived here and they might not be very welcoming. The house bordered onto some woods to its left and she immediately headed in that direction, keen to get out of plain sight of anyone in the house as soon as possible before she was subjected to anymore awkward questions.

X-X-X-X

It had taken George two long and uncomfortable hours to make her way from Courcelles to La Chapelle on foot. The worsening weather combined with her lack of knowledge of the area had made the journey even more difficult. Mindful of the obvious impression she had made on Major Weber, the last thing she wanted was to be seen anywhere near the road and she therefore decided to head back in the direction of the railway line and having managed to pick it up again, and keeping a look out for patrols that might be in the area, she followed it as best she could until she finally reached La Chapelle. She was wet through to the skin, her feet were sore and blistered and she was dizzy from lack of anything to eat or drink but she could think of nothing else but completing the task she had been given. When she finally located the Clement farmhouse the sense of relief was immense and weariness began to take a hold of her.

George knocked quietly on the farmhouse door and a few moments later it opened casting some of the light from within into the damp, gloom outside. To her surprise there appeared to be no one at the door but to her relief she saw Emile at the end of the hall and she stepped over the threshold. There was a serious look on his face but before she could say a word to him she felt the cold steel of a gun muzzle pressed against her left temple and froze in shock.

"That's far enough!"

With a start she recognised the voice of Jacques and was rooted to the spot but as Emile drew near she searched his face for an answer to what was happening and unable to see one cried, "What the hell is going on?"

"It's just a precaution," Emile said slowly.

"Against what?"

Before he could answer Jacques closed the door behind her and interjected, "You're hours late and you were seen leaving Courcelles station with an Abwehr Officer and getting into his car. Then you turn up here as if nothing has happened."

This was almost too much for George to bear after the events of the day.

"Does it look like nothing's happened?" she said gesturing to her bedraggled appearance. She was wet through and starting to shiver from the cold and lack of any food to eat all day. "I had the very bad fortune to run into the new area Abwehr Officer on the train who tried to chat me up all the way to Courcelles, wouldn't take no for an answer about a lift as well as wanting to take me out for dinner tonight. I had to pretend that I was staying at a complete stranger's house and I've just walked here cross-country from Courcelles in the pouring rain with this stupid bloody parcel and now you've got a gun at my head."

Emile was watching George closely. He knew her better than any of them and much better than anyone else was aware. When the report of a young dark-haired woman being seen at Courcelles station in the company of an Abwehr Officer had reached them via a railway engineer who was part of their circuit, they had all been very worried, especially as she was seen getting into the officer's car with the parcel. Whilst Emile knew that George might have been able to talk herself out of the situation, one look at the contents of the parcel would have ended any hopes she might have of evading arrest. He and Jacques had been trying to decide the best course of action. Having only been in France for a short time, George's list of contacts was small which was a blessing but the little she knew could still damage the circuit if they didn't move quickly to limit the repercussions in the event that she talked. The fact that they were discussing the possibility of George having been arrested hadn't really registered with Emile at the time as he had distanced himself, considered everything a Circuit Commander ought to consider and treated the situation appropriately but seeing George standing in the doorway of the farm, dishevelled, angry and upset by the way they were treating her when she had clearly been tested by events today put things into a different perspective. He realised with a jolt that this was George, not some stranger, and he had heard and seen enough to convince him that Jacques was overreacting.

"Put the gun down, Jacques"

He gestured to George to come in. There was a fire in the grate in the kitchen and as she stepped forward she was greeted by a stout, middle-aged, motherly woman wrapped in an apron, whom she took to be Madame Clement. The woman threw both of the men in the room an exasperated look and reaching out to George took her by the hand and led her to the fire.

"For goodness sake, you two," she admonished Jacques and Emile, "she's soaked. Come over here, my dear, and take off some of those wet things. I'll find a towel for you."

She busied herself helping George take off a few items of wet clothing and drying her off then brought her some steaming hot soup and bread to eat at the kitchen table. When she was settled, Emile and Jacques joined her and the three of them shared a bottle of coarse red wine. Emile poured her a glass and said, "Tell us what happened."

George recounted every detail of the journey into Granville, the encounter at the pharmacy and why she had chosen a different route to return. Emile agreed it had been wise but none of them could have expected that she would run into the new Abwehr commander. It sounded as if she had caught his eye and it had, thankfully, deflected his attention away from the parcel. Both Emile and Jacques were interested to hear about Weber. It was useful for someone to have met him and they were keen to hear her opinion.

"He's cultured, well-educated, speaks French very well and he's travelled a lot. I think he's intelligent."

"But you still managed to pull the wool over his eyes," Jacques laughed.

"Maybe, but he's going to find out that I was lying if he calls back at that house tonight."

Emile nodded, "We need to get you new papers. I'll get on to that straight away. If this Weber's got any sense he'll be looking for Yvette Laurent unless he comes to the conclusion that you were just a young woman who didn't want to go out with a German Officer and were lying about your name as well as where you lived. Let's hope so but we can't take chances. You should stay here tonight and Jacques will find you a new safe house tomorrow."

Jacques rose from the table and went in search of Madame Clement to sort out a bed for the night and George was left alone with Emile. He sat back in his chair, wine glass in hand and noticed how weary she seemed.

"Are you alright, George?"

Her eyes widened at his use of her name. He saw her expression and corrected himself, "I meant Madeleine."

"Don't forget it."

He nodded, "I'll do my best." There was a pause. "Same question, though, are you alright, Madeleine?"

Part of her wanted to tell him to mind his own business but she was too tired to argue. "Yes. It was tough, tougher than I thought but yes, I'm alright."

"You did well and I'm _not_ patronising you."

She could tell he meant it and said nothing in response.

They regarded each other across the kitchen table, Emile admiring her determination and presence of mind today, George wondering what she had risked her life for and how a man who had once told her that he loved her could allow her to do so.

"What was in the parcel today?"

Emile shook his head. "It's better you don't know."

Perhaps the effects of the wine, her weariness and the warmth of the room had emboldened her but she decided he wasn't getting away with that. "Come on, you owe me some idea at least."

He thought about it, she had been through a lot and there was no harm in giving her some idea of the importance of what she had done now that it was over. "Information for an operation we're planning. We're waiting for the go ahead from London but we needed photographs, plans and evidence of what we're dealing with. You'll know more when you need to."

He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's late. You look tired. You should get some rest."

He pushed his chair back from the table preparing to get up but was stopped by George enquiring, "What about you?"

Emile was momentarily touched by what sounded like concern from George and he smiled at her. For the first time since arriving in France she saw a man she recognised and it startled her. He stood up.

"I've work to do. I've got to go."

"Watch the curfew," George said wondering why she would say something so pointless to a trained, experienced agent who knew his work far better than her and would pay no heed to it anyway.

The smile broadened on his face as if he was amused by her comment, "You know me. I'll be alright."

In spite herself she smiled back. "Yes I know you."

He prepared to go and she stood up and accompanied him to the farmhouse door.

Outside the weather had turned in for the night, it was dark, wet and stormy and George shivered as she looked out through the open door. "Do you have to go tonight?" she asked without thinking.

Emile looked down at her caught between surprise and amusement, "That sounds seriously like an invitation, Madeleine."

She took a deep breath, "You know it's not."

"Sadly, I do. But, yes, I have to go."

He turned and walked away and she stayed where she was watching him trudge up the hill, his collar turned up against the wind and rain. Just as he reached the bend in the road he looked back to the farmhouse and saw George still standing there framed in the doorway. He raised his hand and for some reason George couldn't understand she waved back. Then he was gone from sight. She shut the door and stood in the darkness for a moment listening to the sound of her own heart beating, like the rhythm of a song, telling her over and over again something she didn't want to hear. It wasn't fair. He had no right to make her feel this way again, no right at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Thank you so much for reading and all your kind comments. I really appreciate your interest._**

 **Chapter Five**

The sound of her bicycle tyres rolling over rough gravel was all that George could hear as she pedalled along the remote forest track. She gazed up into a perfect blue sky and spotted a hawk high above her, gliding on the thermals in wide spirals and she envied its freedom. When she remembered the last summer of peace that she had spent in France before the war it seemed so long ago but even her time at the 'Finishing School' before being sent out here seemed a long time ago now.

George had been in France for four weeks and although it would be wrong to say that she had established a routine, as there was no regular pattern to her activities, she had at least settled into her role and the steps that she needed to take on a daily basis to keep herself safe were becoming second nature. She regularly relayed to Emile wireless messages transmitted from London and took responses and other messages back to Louis. He was having a difficult time and was being forced to move location on a frequent basis as the Germans were increasingly using radio detection vans in the area to seek out enemy wireless operators. He was careful and did everything he could to avoid detection but they all knew that wireless operators were vulnerable and George didn't envy him his job. In addition to the wireless traffic, George also passed messages and instructions from Emile to other resistance groups to help co-ordinate activities between them and collected and delivered small items from all over the area whenever they were needed.

After the incident with Major Weber on the train from Vercourt, Emile had thought it wise to keep George away from the Granville area for a while. It was obvious that she had made an impression upon him and, if what they were hearing was true, Weber was proving to be both determined and effective in his new posting. He might well have concluded that George had been lying to him that day on the train for a variety of reasons which could certainly have included being involved in covert activities. At all costs they wanted to minimise the possibility of George having the bad fortune to meet him again on her travels. She had therefore moved to a safe house further away, assumed the new identity of Marie Bouchard and was now ostensibly employed delivering groceries on her bicycle for a local shopkeeper who was sympathetic to the cause. The bicycle gave her the freedom to travel around a fairly large area independently and the job provided the cover story she needed.

On a lovely day like today, alone out here in the forest, she could almost imagine herself as free as the hawk in the sky and as the track started to run downhill she couldn't resist the impulse to have a little fun, lifting her feet from the pedals, stretching her legs out in front of her and allowing the bicycle to gain speed as it free-wheeled down the incline. The exhilaration of the speed and the rush of air, with her hair streaming out behind her brought a wide beaming smile to her face and she almost laughed out loud at the sensation. It was only as she reached the bottom of the small hill that she was jolted back to reality as a man dressed in dark trousers and a jacket, a cap on his head and a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face stepped out from the cover of the trees with a rifle in his hands and pointed it directly at her.

George, startled by the man's appearance, hit the brakes hard and came to a sudden sliding stop. The heavy bicycle skidded sideways on the uneven gravel surface and to her horror she lost her balance and hit the ground with a heavy thud. Her left knee and elbow dragged painfully along the track and she ended up coming to rest in an undignified heap with the bicycle entangled in her legs and her skirt halfway up her thighs. The contents of the pannier had spilled onto the ground and her first thought was to try to gather them up as soon as she could. She sat up and tried to disentangle herself from the bicycle, conscious that the man was approaching.

"Nice to see you, Madeleine!"

She looked up to see Emile strolling towards her, pulling the scarf down from his face and pushing the cap onto the back of his head whilst looking as though he was trying not to laugh.

George was annoyed that he found her fall amusing although more annoyed that he had seen her larking about. She extricated herself from the bicycle and Emile reached out to take her hands and pull her to her feet. He could tell she was discomfited by the incident but he couldn't help commenting, "Enjoying yourself?"

He had been waiting in the trees for her to arrive and the sight of her free-wheeling down the hill, grinning from ear to ear had brought a smile to his face reminding him of the girl he had met in England two years ago.

She ignored the question. "Don't bother to ask if I hurt myself?"

She started brushing herself down and trying to straighten out her clothes. He watched her knowing it was wrong but he couldn't help loving that angry look in her eyes when she gazed at him. She had spirit. How could he not admire that even if this was the wrong time and place. He made the effort to sound more concerned as he asked, " _Are_ you hurt?"

George turned her arm and inspected her elbow then pulled up her skirt to examine a graze on her knee but concluded it was nothing serious.

"I'll live."

She picked up her bicycle, made sure the handlebars were straight and the contents had been replaced in the pannier and then Emile jerked his head in the direction of the trees.

"This way."

He led her from the track through the trees and into the heart of woods.

"Any messages from London?"

George nodded, "They're sending someone, a sabotage expert and they're going to do a drop."

It was good news. Henri had returned from England last week with confirmation that London would back the operation the circuit had proposed. The news that they would be receiving a trained sabotage and explosives agent as well as supplies was exactly what they had been hoping for.

"We'll need to step up the training," Emile commented. "More work for you, Madeleine."

She didn't mind the long trips out to remote, secluded training areas and certainly not on days like this. Her physical fitness had stood her in good stead and she was equal to the task but even so she knew that the constant exercise combined with the fairly meagre rations had caused her to lose weight. Many of the clothes she had brought with her were already starting to hang loosely and it didn't look as if the situation would improve. She had spent most of her time during the past few weeks relaying information to and from various resistance group leaders but it was preferable to travelling on public transport or venturing into busy towns where there were always likely to be German agents. After four weeks she knew why she had been chosen for this job. It was much easier for women to move around without arousing suspicion. Young men like Emile were frequently subjected to searches and questioning and faced the danger of being deported for war work in Germany if they fell foul of any rules or regulations. It was safer for the job to be done by women but that meant working long hours and making long journeys.

George's job also brought her into frequent contact with Emile. Seldom more than two days went by without her being due at a rendezvous with him to receive instructions or pass on messages and she had gradually become used to the sight of him even if it irked her that he still made remarks when they were alone that reminded her of the past. The more she remembered the past the angrier she felt with herself for being so weak as to allow such thoughts to enter her head and as a consequence she couldn't help being sharp with Emile. She would rather he thought her bad-tempered than let him see the effect his words had upon her. She had, however, grudgingly come to respect his leadership skills: he had a strong natural instinct for making the right decisions, he was quick to size up situations and adept at managing the differing personalities within the circuit and the politics between the local resistance groups. She couldn't deny that he was doing a vital job here and having been faced with her unexpected arrival he had been professional as she was sure that he hadn't told anyone of their previous acquaintance. However, in moments when they were alone it was difficult to keep up the pretence in her own mind that there had never been anything more between them even if neither of them ever referred to it directly. The fact that it remained unspoken made her feel even more awkward and whenever he said the slightest thing that might be an attempt at kindness or humour she had to suppress the anger that threatened to spill over. It was so much easier when they simply stuck to the task in hand.

George followed Emile for about two hundred metres along a small path that led into the forest. The undergrowth had been too dense for her to wheel her bicycle all the way so they hid it in a ditch, covered over with leaves and branches about twenty metres from the main track before Emile guided her the rest of the way. In a few minutes they reached a small clearing and gathered there were about a dozen men, many of whom were quite young, looking barely old enough to have left school, standing around in small groups talking, some smoking and most, but not all, carrying rifles.

As they emerged into the clearing a tall, bearded, dark-haired and powerfully built young man with an air of confidence and a spring in his step, strolled towards them and Emile called out a greeting, "Good to see you Bernard!"

Bernard reached out to shake his hand and then Emile turned to introduce George, "This is Madeleine."

Bernard stepped forward and kissed her on both cheeks and she was immediately aware that he was also casting an appreciative eye over her. Emile seemed to have noticed this too and said in a quiet undertone as if to distract him, "Are these all the men you can muster?"

Bernard shrugged and made a gesture with his hands that suggested he wasn't sure. "They're here, take them or leave them, Phillipe."

Emile nodded, "Very well, let's put them through their paces." He looked around. "Some of them are very young. Have they had any weapons training?"

Bernard shook his head. "There's been precious little opportunity to show the new recruits."

Emile sighed, "Alright, let's see what we can do. Bring the ones who are new to this over here and we'll go through the basics of loading and firing."

For the next half an hour Emile worked with the new recruits and George also found herself pitching in to help. It wasn't her role to assist with training but when she saw a couple of the young lads having trouble, seeming all fingers and thumbs and clearly uncomfortable with handling such weapons she used her knowledge to help them out. She was patient, sympathised with their lack of skill by telling them about a few mistakes she had made and by the end of the time they had listened well and caught up with the others.

Emile then brought everyone together and they started practising a few commands, hand signals and manoeuvres and she listened to him telling the men about the importance of good communication.

"It's not necessarily about numbers. It's a case of everyone knowing their job, being in the right place at the right time and being able to rely on one another."

They took a break after this and then Jacques arrived. Emile had mentioned he would be joining them as the three leaders had some matters to discuss. They strolled away from the main group to a small copse where they could talk in private and George was left with the other men. They chatted to her amiably and despite the very different circumstances it reminded her of being back in England, talking to the boys on an evening out or the banter of the ack-ack battery. After about ten minutes, one of the young men she had helped earlier asked her if she would show him how to handle one of the other rifles he hadn't used before. She walked away to fetch some of the ammunition to load the rifle and reaching the box she knelt down looking for the right calibre cartridges. As she did so she caught the sound of voices just below her on the other side of a hedge and realised it was the three leaders in conversation. Emile was speaking.

"I'll need definite numbers, Bernard. This is the biggest operation we've undertaken and if we're successful we can put the armaments factory in Granville out of business, destroy two months' worth of production and make sure the supply line is so badly damaged it'll take months to repair but I need enough men to make sure the attacks happen simultaneously. It's no good destroying one train load of armaments if the factory can carry on churning them out."

"What about weapons and explosives? We'll need those too." Bernard said.

"They're coming. As I promised. London has given the go ahead for a drop next week. Madeleine brought word of it today. Can you find somewhere safe to store them?" There was no reply and George assumed that Bernard must have nodded in agreement as Emile continued, "Good, but I need as many men as you can get me, Bernard."

Bernard sounded unsure, "It's not easy to find recruits Phillipe. If you need more men you'll have to go to the Communists but they won't help for nothing. How many of those rifles from London and how much ammunition are you prepared to sacrifice? And in any case if you involve them some of my men won't work with them." There was a pause, "It's your decision."

Emile must have been weighing the matter up. George knew that the problem Bernard outlined was real. There was plenty of dislike and distrust of the Communists among ordinary resistance members and Emile might alienate some of them by asking the Communist groups to get involved. However, it sounded as if there was a real risk of the operation failing without sufficient numbers.

Jacques then spoke. "Wouldn't it be better to have several small groups of well-trained men concentrating on each target? We have the factory plans and the sabotage expert from London can assist. Wouldn't that work? You wouldn't need to go to the communists then, Phillipe."

George heard Emile give a long sigh before responding, "Yes, it could work but can the men be ready in time? We know the next transport is due on the 15th. If we want to hit both targets at the same time we need to be ready then. It's very tight for time."

There was a pause before Bernard said, "We'll manage it. I give you my word."

Emile's reply was quiet but decisive, "Very well, it's agreed then."

This was followed by what George assumed to be back-slapping and handshakes and then the sound of movement in her direction. She stood up and walked away, suddenly conscious that she shouldn't have been listening to the conversation and was ten metres away before she saw Emile, Bernard and Jacques emerge from the copse.

They spent some more time with the men before it was time for everyone to disperse. They left individually and in small groups at intervals until only George and Emile were left and they too then made their way back to the main track and retrieved George's bicycle from the ditch before setting back out up the forest track. In her haste to free-wheel down the hill earlier, George hadn't appreciated the effort it would take to trudge back up the incline pushing a heavy bicycle and by the time they reached level ground again she was breathing hard.

"Not getting out of shape are you, Madeleine?"

She shook her head at the remark, "There's little chance of that."

"No, I suppose not," he agreed. "And it won't be over for a while yet."

"I don't mind it," she replied honestly. "I quite enjoy days like this."

Emile thought about what they had been doing for the last few hours and observed, "You were good with the men back there."

George had begun to recognise that Emile gave praise when it was due and he meant it. "Well, I was working in a mixed battery before I came out here, you know. I've learned a few things about working with men."

Emile raised an eyebrow, "Such as?"

"If you want them to listen to you, don't make them feel stupid, even if they are."

Emile smiled. "I listen to you. I always have."

"I rest my case."

He took the jibe in good part but added, "Seriously, Madeleine. You know I would listen to you."

She nodded slowly at this statement, "Alright then, listen to this. I want to be part of the operation."

"You are part of it."

"You see, you're not listening," George cried, "I want to go on the operation when it happens. I'm trained in weapons, I can handle myself. You know that. I can be useful."

Emile stopped and turned to face her.

"I don't like it. It's not a good idea."

"Because I'm a woman?" she shot back at him.

He looked exasperated. "Of course not. It's risky for all of us and you don't even know what it is."

There was an expression on her face that he recognised and he saw a look in her eyes that told him he was mistaken. "How do you know about it?"

It was George's turn to feel awkward but she didn't lie. "I overheard earlier when you were talking to Jacques and Bernard. No one else heard and it wasn't deliberate. Look, it sounds like you'll need everyone you can get for the operation. At least think about it."

He still didn't like it but he nodded, "Alright. I'll think about it but not a word to anyone about the target. Understood?"

"Of course. You don't need to say that."

"I know."

They walked on for a while longer in silence both deep in thought. Emile didn't like the fact that George knew about the target. It was an extra security risk but he liked the idea of her taking part in the operation even less. He didn't doubt she would be proficient and he knew she'd been well trained but he needed people on the outside in case anything went wrong and he didn't want to float that idea with her at the moment. George wondered if Emile was being truthful about the fact that her being a woman was playing no part in his decision but she also rather annoyingly wondered whether he was right and perhaps she shouldn't have made the suggestion in the first place. However, it seemed as if he had been thinking about her involvement during his silence as a few minutes later he said. "You can help with the arms drop next week if you want. We'll need to get everything up off the ground and away as quickly as possible."

"Thanks," she was glad that he was giving her a chance to help.

"It doesn't mean I've made up my mind about the operation, though."

She nodded but made no comment.

They had reached the top of the forest track where it forked and they both paused knowing it would probably be a good place to part company.

"I need to get to Varennes and it's getting late," George said, moving to the right hand fork which would take her back to the road. Emile looked more closely at her. She seemed weary and he'd noticed today that she looked thinner than when she'd first arrived in France. He knew that it would take her at least an hour by road to get to Varennes even on a bicycle.

"It's much shorter through the forest, there's a path. I can show you if you want."

George was tired. She'd been up and out as soon as curfew had ended this morning, collected the messages from Louis and ridden all the way out here to find Emile so that they could co-ordinate their arrangements for the drop. It was late afternoon, she still had a long ride ahead of her and the thought of shortening the journey was appealing even though she knew they ought to split up.

"Is that a good idea?"

He grinned at her, "I trust you, Madeleine."

It infuriated her when he did that. She pulled a face and started to mount her bicycle. He could see she was annoyed.

"Don't cut off your nose to spite your face. I can see that you're tired and we're all more likely to make mistakes when we're tired. Let's go the short way this time."

She wavered for a moment and then her weariness won out. He gestured to his right and they set off into the forest.

There was a path of sorts. It wasn't as defined as the forest track but George was able to wheel her bicycle reasonably easily although there were a few up and downs and Emile helped her to traverse them. They didn't speak much as they needed to walk mostly in single file with Emile at the front. They had covered about two kilometres when Emile suddenly stopped.

"Shit..a patrol," he muttered under his breath.

George glanced ahead and could see the grey uniforms of a German patrol through the trees and heading their way. There was very little time and they both knew they would be seen and the soldiers were sure to stop and question them.

Hastily, Emile took her bicycle from her and threw it onto the ground and turning back to her before she had time to ask what he was doing he pushed her against a tree and whispered urgently, "Kiss me back and make it look like you mean it." He quickly pulled her blouse out from her skirt slipped his hand underneath it and started to kiss her passionately. She froze, her eyes wide open in shock, unable to move as much from the surprise of his actions as the fear of the approaching soldiers until breaking away for a second he snapped her out of her limbo by insisting fiercely, " _Just do it_ , _George_!"

Trying to blank her mind to what was happening, she closed her eyes, kissed him with as much abandonment as she could muster and reached up her arms to clasp them at the back of his neck and wind her fingers through his hair, all the time conscious of the sound of German voices growing ever nearer.

Emile lowered one hand and slid it up under her skirt, lifting it towards her waist and caressing her thigh, doing a very passable impression of being in the throes of seducing her just as the first soldier appeared and she heard the click of a rifle as it was undoubtedly being raised and trained on them accompanied by the cry of "Halt!". They both froze and then they heard the sound of male laughter. Emile's hand was still up George's skirt, her thigh and underwear clearly exposed to everyone but he had turned his head towards the soldier affecting a look of startled surprise at the interruption.

"What are you doing here?" the soldier shouted.

Emile removed his hand from George's leg and let her skirt fall and sounding suitably embarrassed, nervous and shifty he said, "Talking… to my girlfriend."

The soldiers looked at each other incredulously and one sniggered but the one taking charge of the situation continued, "All the way out here?"

Emile cleared his throat, "We can't meet in town. It's awkward…her fiancé might find out."

The soldiers exchanged glances and then George was sure one of them cracked a joke about Frenchmen having all the luck before, to her relief, they started laughing again. One of the others spoke to the first soldier in German and she felt sure he was telling his comrade not to bother with them. One or two of the others backed away as if uninterested and after staring at them for a moment longer the first one shook his head, "Don't hang about here." Then he also turned away and joined the others who were still laughing at having interrupted an illicit tryst. Emile and George watched them go in silence. She was still standing with her back to the tree and they still had their arms around each other. He looked down at her.

"They were sloppy. I think we got away with it."

She was shaking, she couldn't help it but she nodded, "Yes, this time."

He looked into her eyes. It had been so long since they had been like this together and although he knew he ought to move away the relief of their narrow escape and the contact with her after so many months of stress and tension was too much for him and he pulled her close to him. She didn't resist but almost seemed to sink into him as if she felt the same and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to him to lean towards her seeking the comfort of a real kiss.

George had momentarily relaxed, weakened by the after effects of a rush of adrenalin that had coursed through her body when she thought they were about to be arrested and her legs had turned to jelly as she saw the soldiers moving away from them but the moment she realised Emile was still holding her and about to take advantage of the situation she felt the anger rise in her and she tried to push him away, "No. What do you think this is?"

It shook him and he realised his mistake, "I'm sorry." Even so, as he released her it was with great reluctance. She was already heading for her bicycle, intent on getting away from here and him as soon as possible.

Emile walked after her. "Slow down and at least wait for the patrol to go. Look I won't …"

She turned to glare at him, "You're right you won't! And you didn't need to put your hand up my skirt just now, either."

Emile cleared his throat, "I don't know, I thought it lent the act a bit of authenticity."

Even at a moment like this she heard the humour in his voice and her annoyance spilled over, "That's all it was, Emile. An act. Don't forget it."

He wanted to comment on the fact that she'd forgotten to call him by his codename but the look in her eyes was enough this time to silence him.

The patrol had disappeared from sight and George bent to pick up her bicycle. "I can find my own way from here."

He nodded. "Alright, but be careful."

"Yes," she snapped back, "More careful than you were with your suggestions to come this way in the first place."

"I'm serious," Emile replied. "Be careful. People are relying on you."

"And I _won't_ let them down."

She turned and started to push her bicycle along the path heading for Varennes. Emile knew he ought to head off as well but instead he leaned against a tree and watched her struggling with the heavy bicycle on the uneven ground. There was no point in going after her or offering any help, she was far too determined to prove herself even though she had nothing left to prove to him.

He took a few deep breaths and then thinking about what had happened with the German patrol felt a bit annoyed with himself. George was right; he hadn't been careful. Despite his best efforts he was letting the situation get to him. To be more precise he was letting her get to him and he also knew that he was starting to worry about her. He naturally felt concern for all his comrades but he knew he was starting to worry about one person in particular and that was dangerous. He should have let her go by herself when she'd suggested it back at the fork in the forest track but he'd wanted to spend more time with her and as a result they'd almost been caught, not that there hadn't been any compensation in their little bit of subterfuge just now. He allowed himself a wry smile at the memory of George in his arms but humour aside he knew that they had been lucky and their little act had saved them this time. The problem was that in spite of everything he was telling himself to the contrary about the way he ought to feel for George, he couldn't escape one simple fact that confused everything; he still loved her.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Thank you so much to everyone for reading and reviewing chapter five. Apologies for the long delay in updating. I've been a little under the weather and it was a bit of a struggle to write for about a week but I didn't stop altogether. This has, however, turned into quite a long chapter – another reason it has taken so long – but I didn't want to split this up, so here it is in its entirety. As we left them at the end of chapter five, Emile and George had evaded a German patrol thanks to Emile's quick thinking although he soon forgot himself, much to George's annoyance…._**

 **Chapter Six**

George buttoned up her jacket and turning to the mirror in the bedroom regarded herself dispassionately as she placed the brown beret securely on her head. There was nothing remarkable in the reflection and she felt no temptation to turn to the left or right to observe herself more closely. She was just another young Frenchwoman, like so many others, whose appearance was growing increasingly dowdy these days, dressed in her no-nonsense skirt, sensible lace-up shoes and jacket with its darned elbows. New clothes were as difficult to find as they were to afford and, in any case, the last thing she wanted this evening was to stand out in a crowd.

She was heading for a rendezvous with Jacques who was to drive her out to some woods which lay to the west of Sainte Martin. When they arrived they would meet up with other circuit members and lie low until shortly before midnight when they were to assemble at a drop location nearby. They would be acting as the reception committee for the weapons and explosives drop promised by London, the same one that George had reported to Emile last week. They were also expecting the arrival by parachute of a trained sabotage expert, codenamed Sebastian. Emile would also be there to assist and welcome the new member of the circuit. George had seen him a couple of times this week but only briefly in public places to pass on and receive messages and she was glad of it. The incident in the forest with the German patrol had shaken her more than she wanted to admit and not just because of the danger of being arrested. If she was honest, the close physical encounter with Emile had confused her for a little while. She had struggled to contain her anger immediately afterwards, furious at first with him for taking advantage of the situation but before long she had turned the anger on herself for still being bothered by him. She was half-way back to Varennes before she realised that she was so caught up with her own thoughts that she hadn't been paying enough attention to her surroundings and the recollection shocked her and brought her back to her senses. She had doubled her efforts since to be vigilant at all times and tried to clear her mind of all that had gone before. No good could come of these thoughts and her job here was already difficult enough without letting anything or anyone as pointless as Emile Harte cloud her judgment.

George took one final look at her reflection before heading downstairs. The elderly sisters she lodged with were preparing an evening meal in the kitchen. Cecile, the younger sister, a childless widow in her late sixties, always cheerful and surprisingly fresh-faced for a lady of mature years, looked up as George entered the room.

"Are you going out, Marie?"

George nodded. She still found it difficult to remember that as far as the ladies were concerned she was Marie Bouchard. They knew her by no other name, nor did they need to although tonight she would be carrying a different set of false papers in the name of Louise Aubert, papers that would not connect her to them. She knew that the sisters were sympathetic to the resistance, of course, but the unspoken agreement was that they asked no questions and George told them nothing in return. To all intents and purposes she was simply their young lodger.

She smiled at Cecile as she responded to her enquiry, "Yes. Don't wait up for me."

A look of concern crossed Cecile's face and George could tell that she was about to say something, perhaps give her a warning or maybe issue some motherly advice when her older sister, Jeanne interrupted her, "Very well." A retired teacher in her early seventies, Jeanne possessed a beady eye that had borne witness to almost every excuse under the sun offered up by errant school children to excuse misdemeanours and she knew how to judge situations such as these. She also recognised the dangers of conversation and nodded at George indicating that nothing more needed to be said before turning back to the stove. Cecile gave George a long look and George could tell her thoughts but she flashed a confident smile in her direction, "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, my dear."

George heard the anxiety in Cecile's voice but pushed it to the back of her mind. She needed to focus on what she had to do. She couldn't carry the concerns of others with her when there was so much at stake and concentrating her mind she left without another word or backward glance.

Jacques was waiting with his van several streets away, as arranged, when George appeared shortly before six o'clock. It wouldn't be dark until at least nine o'clock and it would almost be time for curfew then so it was essential that they made the journey in good time to avoid trouble. Jacques, not always the most sociable of men, seemed to be in a talkative mood this evening and chatted amiably as they drove along. George was happy to join in as it took her mind off the task in hand and made everything seem much more normal until he threw in an unexpected question.

"What have you done to upset Phillipe?"

She turned her head to look at Jacques wondering if this was some kind of joke but he appeared serious.

She shook her head, "I don't know what you mean."

Jacques raised his voice to be heard above the rising note of the engine as the van took a hill. "He said he was going to pull you off this drop tonight and wanted me to get a message to you to stay away."

George felt a stab of indignation course through her. After everything Emile had said last week in the forest to her about accepting that she was just as able as any man to do this work it seemed as if he had planned to go back on his word.

"Mind you," Jacques continued, "I told him we were short-handed tonight. Jean-Luc's ill, Richard's wife is having a baby and the only other option was to use Louis and we couldn't risk him so he had no choice but he seemed set against you joining us."

George wondered for a moment if Emile had changed his mind because she had rejected him. In spite of her feelings towards him even this seemed petty and beneath him but then she wondered if he had only been humouring her in the first place when he had invited her to join them on the drop. The thought that he might not have taken her seriously was even more annoying than the thought he was smarting because she hadn't fallen into his arms at the first opportunity.

"Well, that's too bad," she called to Jacques, "he'll have to put up with me whether he likes it or not."

Jacques glanced at her for a second, saw the determined look in her eye and chuckled to himself. Whatever problem had caused Phillipe to change his mind about Madeleine, he'd have a bigger problem on his hands if he didn't keep his word.

They arrived in good time at the assembly point, a remote farm owned by Albert Ferrand and his wife, Jacqueline, about a kilometre from the drop site. Jacques drove his van into one of the barns and they shut the large wooden double doors behind them to ensure it was out of sight should anyone pass by unexpectedly.

"You can only get to the drop site using a forest track. We'll take Albert's horse and cart down there and then bring the stuff up here to load into the van afterwards," Jacques explained as they made their way up to the farmhouse.

Albert, a stocky man in his forties with a ruddy complexion that bore testament to a lifetime outdoors, welcomed them and immediately embraced Jacques like a long-lost brother with much back-slapping and laughter. Jacques then introduced Madeleine and he greeted her with a handshake and kiss on each cheek before showing them into the kitchen where Jacqueline was preparing a meal. Several other men, including Bernard, were already assembled there, sitting at the table drinking wine and smoking. George had met all of them before on her travels and was greeted amiably and invited to join them before being given a glass of wine. Amongst these men at least she was considered a comrade in arms and an equal. Not one of them seemed the least bit surprised that she would be helping tonight and her sense of indignation towards Emile grew so much so that by the time he appeared an hour later she could barely bring herself to look at him for fear of glowering.

Emile was greeted warmly by those present and was clearly held in esteem but when his eyes briefly met George's she made sure he knew she was unimpressed and barely nodded at him before looking away. He noticed her cold response but he was too concerned with other matters to dwell on it. It was almost nine o'clock and they needed to listen to the wireless. Jacqueline brought out a wireless set that had been hidden under the floorboards and they tuned in to the BBC news service for French listeners. They all knew that it was strictly forbidden to listen to the BBC and anyone caught doing so could be arrested and imprisoned but on this occasion they had a good reason. Once the main news bulletin giving all the latest war news had finished the announcer read out a series of coded messages. Louis had relayed to Emile a message from London giving the sentence that would be broadcast if the drop was definitely going ahead and they all waited in anticipation. Six messages were read out and repeated before the announcer said, "Francois is going on a picnic."

"It's on," Emile said at once standing up to turn off the wireless set, "let's go over the plans."

They spent some time discussing arrangements and, not for the first time, George had leisure to observe how business-like and professional Emile could be. They went over the arrangements several times until everyone was certain of their roles. When the drop had been made the weapons, ammunition and explosives would be gathered up and loaded onto the cart and taken back to the farm. Jacques, a young man called Hubert, Madeleine and Emile would load up the van and then Jacques, Madeleine and Hubert would return to Varennes. Should they be stopped they were carrying false permits allowing them to be out during curfew hours as shift workers on their way to the metal works in Varennes. The sabotage and explosives agent, Sebastian, would leave with Bernard in the opposite direction and the two other men, Jean and Alain, would take their bicycles down to the drop zone and leave immediately the drop was completed.

At half-past eleven the group made its way in silence, apart from the creaking of the cart and the horse's hooves on the track, down through the woods to the flat pasture land in a shallow valley below that would serve as the drop zone. They paused some distance from the site and Hubert and Bernard moved off in opposite directions to scout around and ensure that there was no German activity in the area. They returned within fifteen minutes or so to report that everything seemed quiet. The clearing was some distance from any roads and as there was no chance of any vehicles suddenly appearing they settled down to wait. They were expecting the drop around midnight but needed to wait until they could hear the sound of the aeroplane approaching before three of them would head out into the open to use hand held torches as signals to mark the area of the drop zone for the pilot and crew.

At about ten past twelve they heard the low distant hum of aeroplane engines in the distance and Bernard, Hubert and Alain headed out into the field. As the noise grew louder and closer George saw three beams of light directed up into the darkness. The aeroplane seemed to be almost directly overhead before, peering way above her into the dark sky, George caught sight of the first white, mushroom like shape of a parachute and realised that the drop was happening. Other smaller chutes appeared and soon there were canisters gently dropping across the field and she and the others hurried out to collect up all the supplies, remove the parachutes and carry the boxes to the waiting horse and cart. The whole drop had only taken a few minutes and the sound of the aeroplane engines had swiftly receded into the distance but it took them quite a while longer to gather and load everything. They had almost finished when Bernard came running across the field looking for Emile.

"Sebastian's parachute drifted off course. We found him but he's caught up in a tree. We need some help to get him down."

Jacques and Hubert were ready to return to the farm with Albert and the horse and cart and Emile sent them on their way knowing it would take some time to reach the farm and unload and it was vital not to waste unnecessary time.

"Madeleine, stay with me." There was no time to argue with Emile and from his tone of voice George surmised the matter wasn't up for discussion and she followed him into the woods along with Bernard.

When they located Sebastian on the far side of the drop zone he was well and truly strung up in a tree about fifteen feet from the ground. Jean and Alain were trying to reach him and cut him down but it was slow and painstaking work and they needed additional help from Emile. Between them they managed to climb into the tree, work him free and somehow manhandle him to the ground, a task made more difficult by the fact that he was a large man and barely conscious. When they did finally get him to the ground it appeared that after having been severely winded by the bad landing he had passed out and then had difficulty regaining consciousness due to a restriction of oxygen caused by the tightness of the harness. It took some time for him to come to his senses but he seemed none the worse and was eventually able to converse with Emile. It hadn't been a good start but after a little while he got to his feet and seemed fit to continue. In the meantime Bernard had cut down his parachute and buried it. Emile spoke with him briefly and they arranged to meet the following day then Bernard headed off with him to take him to a safe house.

Emile turned to George, "We'd better get back to the farm, Jacques will be ready to leave by now and you have to go."

They set off at a good pace heading back towards the farm but had only just crossed the open field and headed back into the woods making for the direction of the track leading to the farm when they heard the sound of shots being fired somewhere behind them. Emile shrank down to the ground, pulling George with him. They crouched and looked back into the distance trying to make out where the sound had come from. A volley of shots broke the silence and from the flashes and accompanying torches George estimated they were no more than five hundred metres away.

"Troops." Emile said. "They must have heard the aeroplane but at least it's taken them quite a while to get here."

"They might have seen some of the others," George said thinking of Bernard and Sebastian.

"Or us," Emile added. "Come on. No time to waste."

He rose and grabbing George by the hand broke into a run. The sound of shooting continued and seemed to be keeping pace with them although it was still beyond their range. They raced through the woods until they located the track back towards the farmhouse. It hadn't seemed far when they had walked down it the first time but now that they were running to try to put distance between themselves and the advancing troops it seemed to go on forever. George felt sure that they hadn't been seen but it was likely that having been alerted by the aeroplane noise earlier the soldiers were carrying out a sweep of the area and unless they found somewhere to hide they would probably be overtaken.

"They're bound to search here," George gasped as they reached the farmhouse.

Emile ignored her and firmly knocked twice on the farmhouse door which was opened immediately by Albert who appeared to be half-way through changing into his nightclothes.

"You've heard the shooting?" Emile asked and without waiting for a response continued, "Have Jacques and Hubert gone?"

"Yes, thank god," Albert said, whilst ushering them in and shutting the door. "This way!" he gestured for them to follow him and Emile roughly pushed George along the hallway in front of him towards the kitchen. She looked around the room wondering what on earth they were going to do next and then noticed that Albert was at one end of the heavy kitchen table, lifting it and attempting to drag it sideways. Emile rushed over to help him and then they hastily rolled back the old rug beneath to uncover a trap door in the floor. Albert lifted the door to reveal a short flight of steps leading down into the darkness.

Emile grabbed George by the hand, "Quick, down there."

She didn't need to be told twice but rushed forward and scrambled down the steps with Emile behind her. There was barely time to make out the fact that they were descending into a small cellar that was really no more than a small storage area with only just enough headroom for Emile to stand upright before Albert had shut the trap door, rolled the mat over the entrance above and they heard the sound of the table being dragged back across to its normal position to conceal its presence.

Suddenly George found she was struggling for breath. The shock of the Germans' arrival, the run through the forest and now the tension of being unexpectedly trapped down here in this dark, stuffy hole caused her breath to come in painful rasping gasps. Each breath seemed to be amplified in the darkness and she began to panic at the thought that she wouldn't be able to breathe normally or quietly until she felt her hand grasped in the darkness and then the warmth of Emile's breath close to her ear as he whispered, "Hush". He squeezed her hand and she turned her head towards the direction of his voice but there was no time to exchange a word as the hammering of a rifle butt on the front door of the farmhouse announced the arrival of troops intending to search the house.

There was a pause and then Albert must have moved to open the door, no doubt feigning sleepiness as an excuse for taking so long, as heavy boots could be heard moving swiftly into the rooms above them. There was evidently an officer with them as occasional instructions were being barked out in an authoritative tone. George and Emile froze in the darkness listening to the sound of feet racing upstairs, doors being opened, items falling on the floor and questions being hurled at Albert and his wife. After a couple of minutes they moved back downstairs and they realised that the soldiers were now directly above them in the kitchen.

George's heart was in her mouth as she listened to the footsteps moving only a couple of feet from her head and as Emile continued to hold her hand she stood like a statue taking short, shallow breaths in an effort to make no sound. Beside her she could tell, even in the darkness, that Emile was straining every muscle to follow the direction of the noise. The officer's voice was heard above them and then the sound of boots on the floor receded. The voices grew more distant and George guessed they were moving from the farmhouse into the yard but she didn't dare move or speak. Silence descended in the house but still neither of them dared to make a sound having no idea if anyone might still be above waiting for them to betray their presence. George lost all sense of time as she stood in the pitch blackness feeling nothing but an ever-growing sensation of claustrophobia as if the darkness was trying to swallow her up. Then another awful thought occurred to her; what if Albert and Jacqueline had been arrested and she and Emile were trapped here. How long would they dare to wait before they tried to make their escape and would they be able to get the trap door open again? She closed her eyes and tried to focus on breathing slowly and quietly, anything that would keep the terrifying feelings of incarceration at bay.

Although it had seemed like much longer, George and Emile had probably waited no more than fifteen minutes before they heard lighter footsteps above them, the sound of the mat being dragged back and then to George's relief a chink of light appeared followed by Albert lifting the trap door, allowing some welcome fresh air into the cellar. Emile released George's hand and she realised with a start that she had forgotten he was still holding it fast. He climbed up a few steps to speak to Albert.

"The Germans have gone but It's not safe to leave yet." Albert reported. "There will be patrols out in the area all night and they might come back. You'd better stay here until morning. I'll go out at first light to check on the cows and see how the land lies. I'm sorry but it would be safer for you to stay down there."

Emile turned to look at George and could tell from her face that this idea was not appealing but he knew Albert was right, they had no choice.

"Thank you, Albert. It will be fine. "

Albert located some matches and a candle and passed them down to Emile before shutting the trap door again and going off to bed. It had been a long night and he needed to be up again at dawn. The glow from the candle Emile was holding illuminated their immediate surroundings and relieved some of George's feelings of claustrophobia. It also revealed a small table, two stools and a mattress with some blankets on the floor but nothing else. George realised that they were not the first people to have hidden down here and tried to take comfort from that the fact that it must have worked before. Emile looked as though he was preparing to get settled and pulling out one of the stools sat down.

"Take a seat, Madeleine. It's going to be a long night."

George hesitated for a moment contemplating the fact that she would be stuck down here in the cellar with him until daybreak. Emile glanced up at her. "What's the matter?"

George shrugged, "I don't particularly want to be here."

Emile smiled. "Could be worse. We could be out there."

"I think I'd prefer that."

Emile seemed to find this remark amusing and shook his head a little.

"Why are you smiling?"

He looked up at her, "Honestly?"

She nodded.

"Because you've got to admit that the fact you'd rather be avoiding patrolling Germans than spending the night down here with me is bloody hilarious."

She sensed an edge to his comment and it was just too much for her. He had no right to sound annoyed that she wouldn't want to be here.

"Can you blame me?"

Without thinking she headed towards the trap door and had taken her first step on the ladder but Emile was too quick for her. He lunged towards her and grabbed her roughly by the arm.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"Away from you."

"Albert wasn't joking. There are patrols out there."

"I'll take my chances," she hissed at him. It was a reckless statement and she knew it.

"Not at our expense, you won't," Emile responded with feeling, "I knew you shouldn't have come."

"Yes, I know what you really think. Jacques told me you didn't want me here."

"Not because…" he stopped mid-sentence. He had almost betrayed himself and he tried to change tack, "Look, all I'm saying is don't be a fool, George." He realised at once it had been the wrong thing to say.

"Well, I am a fool, Emile. You know that."

He heard sarcasm in her voice, sarcasm edged with something else that sounded like unhappiness. "What are you talking about?"

She stared at him and even in the gloom of the cellar he could see that her eyes were wide with anger, "Do I have to spell it out? Has it really slipped your mind?"

He saw her meaning. "You and me."

"Of course," she almost spat at him. "You must have thought I was a fool because I believed every rotten word that came out of your mouth."

He was shocked into silence. She looked close to tears, from anger he supposed and probably directed at herself as much as at him. He took a deep breath and a couple of steps away from her trying to gather his thoughts and keep his emotions in check. This was not the moment he would have chosen for this conversation but it looked like there was no way of escaping it now and above all else he had to stop George doing anything rash that might endanger both of them.

George watched Emile trying to compose himself, thinking to herself that it must be a difficult moment for him having to accept that she had seen him for who he was and he wasn't going to be let off the hook about the past just because everything was different here. He had only himself to blame if matters had come to a head just now. He shouldn't have kept behaving as if the past didn't matter. She could see that he was trying to decide how to respond and she braced herself for the lie that must surely follow.

Emile lifted his head and fixed George with a look of intensity and seriousness that she had never seen before even during some very difficult moments in the last few weeks and she was suddenly less certain of her ground.

"What did you think was happening that night in Bournemouth?" She said nothing and he continued, "What did you think was happening between us?"

Even in the poor light he saw a hint of colour in her cheeks and uncertainty. He had caught her by surprise. She clearly hadn't been expecting this, he saw an opening and he reached out to grasp her by both hands and hold them fast.

"We made love, George. That's what it was. It wasn't me getting my leg over or you being 'easy' or any other choice little phrase that you've heard bandied about. Is that what you thought?" She started and he knew he had hit the nail on the head. "Because you're wrong, more wrong than you've ever been about anything. That's not what happened, not for me. _I_ was making love. What were you doing?"

She was shaken. She hadn't expected him to ask her such a searching question and her thoughts immediately returned to that night at the small hotel in Bournemouth, the end of a perfect day, the one and only night she had spent with Emile and had tried so hard to forget for the past two years. She had taken the courage of her convictions that night, gone against every principle of modesty and behaviour long instilled in her because she had believed in him, believed that he was different and he was worth it. She looked into his eyes, saw nothing but honesty written there and then realised her utter mistake. She struggled for a moment to phrase a response and when she did her voice was a mere whisper.

"You promised me you'd be waiting for me on Tuesday evening. I waited for two hours in the rain and you didn't show up. You didn't leave a word." The memory of waiting forlornly in a shop doorway as the night closed in with the drip of the rain from the shop awning splashing her feet was etched in her brain. She had never felt so alone and abandoned in her entire life as she had that evening.

"It wasn't out of choice," Emile said at once. "We said goodbye at the hotel and I went back to the base the following morning and there were orders for an immediate posting waiting for me. I'd volunteered for special flying ops weeks before I met you and long before I got involved with this outfit because I was bored in Coastal but nothing had ever come of it and then the very day I got back from Bournemouth there were orders to ship out to a secret location. I couldn't write or call or tell anyone where I'd gone and when I finally did get a chance about a week later I tried to telephone you but you'd been posted too and they wouldn't say where. 'Careless talk' and all that. I wrote to you hoping the letter would get forwarded on somehow but I heard nothing from you."

His words rang true. Only a few days after the miserable evening she had spent waiting for him in vain she had also been posted. Fate had been desperately unkind to both of them.

"I didn't get the letter," George said miserably. "We were posted twice in a short space of time. I suppose there is a war on…" She didn't know what else to say and fell silent.

That was it exactly, Emile thought. They were just another insignificant couple whose romance had been ruined by the unpredictability of life in wartime. He felt the weight of her misery and he could also imagine what she must have felt two years ago.

"You thought I was just another man who'd lied to you and then disappeared once he'd had his way," he surmised. He could see it all from her point of view now and everything she had said and done since arriving in France made sense to him. She had been hurt. She held him responsible and she'd been trying to protect herself. He was still holding her hands and he tightened his grasp trying to impress on her that he meant what he was about to say. "I'm not that sort of man, George. I don't blame you for thinking that at the time or since, but I would have been there that day like a shot if it had been possible." He paused and took a slow, deliberate breath. "I was in love with you…I still am." He took one final chance, "And I thought you loved me, too."

He didn't need to hear her voice. She answered him without words, pulling her hands from his grasp and reaching out to cradle his face between her palms, her fingers gently exploring its contours like a blind person trying to read his character and finding familiarity beneath her touch. When her lips found his he realised how much he had been hurting too all this time, burying it beneath his work, hiding behind humour and using the purpose and activity as a means of escape. He had not needed to think about her for such a long time but the moment he had seen her again the night she arrived in France he had sensed that this day would inevitably come.

There was no rush or frantic, hurried release of tension. As he slowly wrapped his arms around her Emile knew they had waited too long to ruin something so precious and George seemed to feel this too. They gently explored the forgotten sensation of being in each other's arms again. Every touch, every word, every tender kiss soothed and washed away the hurt of two years and renewed the desire that had lain dormant. As they inevitably sank down together onto the mattress, wrapped up in each other and no longer thinking of the world beyond this room, they both seemed to instinctively know that this was not simply about passion. This was a moment of more than physical comfort; it was healing.

X-X-X-X

The light from the trap door opening above him roused Emile from his sleep and for a moment he was confused by the feeling of George lying in his arms with her head resting on his chest and her hair lying loose across her bare shoulders. They couldn't have been asleep for more than a couple of hours. He had promised to keep watch but the candle had burned out and in the darkness, comforted by the feel of George lying close to him, her heart beating in rhythm with his own, he had succumbed to weariness. As he moved he woke her too and she lifted her head and looked just as startled for a moment to see his face so close to hers before recollecting what had happened and smiling at him until she realised that the trap door above was opening, there was nowhere to run and they had no time to do anything.

Albert's face appeared above them, "Good morning. It's alright, everything's quiet out there. The Germans are gone."

Emile and George looked at each other in relief.

"Thank you," Emile called out.

"Come up and have some breakfast," Albert replied and Emile nodded his agreement.

He turned to George. "We'd better go up and thank them."

She nodded and they scrambled to their feet, pulling on clothes and trying to straighten out their appearance. George ran her fingers through her hair trying to remove a few tangles before making to leave. She turned towards the steps but Emile caught her by the hand and pulled her back towards him. He gazed into her eyes, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth as he thought of the few hours they had spent here.

"George, last night meant everything. You know that don't you?"

"Yes."

She reached up to kiss him and he held her fast not wanting to release her, bring this moment to an end or return to the world that existed above them. They stood in silence, his forehead resting upon hers, their arms tightly wound around each other. He felt her breath upon his face, saw her eyes flicker open as she gazed into his and heard her whisper, "Je t'aime."

X-X-X-X

Emile hadn't been surprised to see a checkpoint on the bridge at Varennes. After the events of last night it was inevitable that there would be an increased security presence but at least this one was being manned by gendarmes with only a small contingent of German soldiers nearby who seemed relaxed and were paying little attention to activity at the checkpoint.

When he and George had finally parted company at the farm after breakfast with Albert and Jacqueline it was with the agreement that they would leave separately and travel by different routes to Varennes. George had lodgings there and Emile needed to find Bernard and check that the weapons and ammunition had been safely transported and stored before going on to meet Sebastian and draw up plans for the operation. George had taken the longer route by road whilst Emile had travelled by the shorter but riskier cross-country route. They had agreed, however, that whoever reached Varennes first would wait at the café in Rue Marseilles on the other side of the bridge to ensure that they both made it safely.

As he approached the bridge heading for the checkpoint Emile could see that George was not sitting outside the café but he hadn't really expected her to arrive first. He glanced casually to his left and right to check that she was not hanging back somewhere but not seeing her or anything else that made him feel wary he walked on at a steady pace towards the gendarmes trying to maintain a blank, neutral expression. Checks such as these on identity papers were a regular occurrence, a nuisance endured by French citizens and he tried to affect a look of bored indifference to the situation despite the tension that he naturally felt. Like George, he was carrying papers for a second false identity. He had one regular set he used for his normal every day activities but he carried a second set of false papers whenever they were engaged in operations or travelling in case of checks such as this. It was early and he was dressed like many other workers and his papers declaring him to be Michel Laval, a factory worker, raised no curiosity with the officer. He passed through and headed to the café taking up position at a table outside where he ordered a coffee and waited for George. He wouldn't speak to her, of course, when she arrived. She would simply continue on her way but it would be enough to know that she had made it.

Twenty minutes had passed before Emile caught sight of George approaching the checkpoint. It was busier now and a small queue had formed waiting for their papers to be inspected; a mixture of workers and housewives burdened by the daily struggle to feed their families on what little could be bought, bartered or begged. A minute or two passed before George reached the front of the queue and handed her papers to the officer. Emile could see her waiting, her expression suitably blank. The officer was spending a lot of time scrutinising the documents. He raised a hand and called over a second gendarme who took the papers from him and also examined them closely then they appeared to be asking her some questions and she responded. They were both looking at her and then one grasped her by the upper arm and pulled her from the front of the queue to the side. The two officers continued to talk to her and she was responding. Emile knew that something was wrong. George was shaking her head and seemed to be repeating something. The gendarme was pointing at the papers and now one of the soldiers was walking over to see what was being discussed.

Emile felt anxiety and tension course through him. He was helpless sitting here on his own, unarmed in a busy street with German soldiers so close by. George was in trouble but there was nothing he could do but look on in silent horror. The conversation between George and the gendarmes seemed to have concluded and the outcome was not good. She was being marched across the bridge between two of them each holding her by one of her arms. They were heading into town and the only glimmer of hope in Emile's mind was the fact that she was not with the German soldiers. Whatever was wrong did not seem to have attracted their attention and the first soldier who had started to show an interest had drifted away. However, this was no guarantee that the French police would not pass on a report to the German authorities if something was wrong.

As George, accompanied by the gendarmes drew nearer, Emile scanned the area again wondering if there was something he could possibly do to cause a diversion but at that moment a truck load of German soldiers pulled up just beyond him in the road and he realised with a sense of despair that it would be suicide to attempt anything.

By now Emile was sure that George must have seen or sensed he was nearby but she was steadfastly looking ahead and he realised that even in such a moment as this she was thinking of him, determined not to betray him by drawing attention to the fact that she knew him. They were level with him now and Emile could see George concentrating hard to stay calm and focused, no doubt running through dozens of excuses and explanations in her head and intent on convincing them that she had done nothing wrong. Then, for just a brief second, totally unseen by her captors who were intent of marching her to the police station, her eyes flickered in Emile's direction and he saw something else in their expression that tore at his heart; fear.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

George traced a line along the cell wall with one finger, feeling the contrast between the smooth texture of the whitewashed brick and the rough groove of the mortar and wondered just how many other people had lain here on this bed doing the same thing. She had spent hours like this in the past few days trying in vain to think of anything that might distract her from the reality of her situation. The confines of these four bare walls, the nauseating aroma of cabbage and urine that permeated the prison and the constant disquieting noise made it difficult to free her mind from the fears that had accompanied her since that moment on the bridge in Varennes. Night was the worst time as sounds echoed through the hallways and the vast empty spaces of the cast iron galleries. The shouting, crying and sometimes even screaming of inmates having nightmares or simply finding the incarceration too much to bear, haunted George as she lay in the darkness. At night she put the pillow over her head and tried to shut everything out by concentrating on thoughts of life beyond these walls.

For the first time in weeks George had allowed herself to think of her family in Manchester and wonder what they might be doing at this moment. In her mind's eye she could see her father and mother sitting quietly in the back parlour, drinking tea and listening to the wireless and her two younger sisters reading magazines, laughing, joking, chatting about the handsome American film stars they had seen at the pictures or humming along to the latest dance tunes. They were simple pleasures but the thoughts of home brought tears to her eyes and she was glad that her family had no idea where she was now. In contrast, Emile knew exactly where she was and as thoughts of him floated through her mind she tried to cheer herself by recalling him throwing her one of those cheeky grins, the type that had infuriated her so much only a few days ago but unlike then she knew she would give everything now to hear him tease her or to feel his arms around her. At this moment the thought of not seeing him again was harder to bear than she could ever have imagined and despite her attempts to keep her spirits up she had shed a tear or two in the darkness at the thought that it might not come to pass.

Lying with her back to the room and staring at the wall of her cell was also a convenient way of avoiding conversation with her cell mate, a hard-faced, bleached blonde of indeterminate age called Edith who had been arrested for trading in black market goods and seemed entirely unrepentant. George had no sympathy with her plight and it must have shown in her face as when Edith enquired about George's reason for being here and was told it was due to an irregularity with her identity papers, Edith had scoffed, "Pull the other one, love. If you've got false papers you must have been up to something dodgy."

George was wary, having been warned about stooges and plants at the 'Finishing School'. She had no idea if her cell mate was a genuine inmate or not but she wasn't taking any chances.

"They're not false papers and I haven't been doing anything wrong."

Compared to this woman she believed she was right and made sure she sounded indignant at the suggestion. It was a tone of voice she had almost perfected during the past four days.

From the moment the gendarme at the bridge checkpoint had held on to her papers a little too long she had begun to fear that something was wrong especially when he asked her where she had obtained the permit.

"From the issuing office at Sainte Martin," she had said affecting a look of innocence mixed with confusion at the question.

"You're sure of that?" the gendarme had asked.

"Yes," George had replied with a shrug, "Where else would I get it?"

He had stared back at her for a few seconds as if weighing something up before continuing, "I think you may have obtained them somewhere else, Mademoiselle."

George shook her head, "No, I assure you, I haven't."

The gendarme had called over a colleague and shown him the papers, pointing to something on the page of the work permit.

"Step this way, please Mademoiselle Aubert." The first gendarme had taken hold of her upper arm and pulled her to one side so that the queue of people behind her could continue to move.

"Please," George said turning what she hoped was a pleading look upon the officer, "I must get to work. My employer gets very annoyed if I'm late and I've been told off twice this week already."

The gendarme nodded. "This would be an imaginary employer, Mademoiselle?"

George had shaken her head, "No. I don't understand. Please, tell me what the problem is."

To her dismay George noticed a German soldier from the group near the checkpoint heading towards them and was desperate to deflect his interest from whatever was wrong with her papers.

The gendarme looked her in the eye and she saw he wasn't taken in. "These papers are false, Mademoiselle, and I think it would be a good idea if we discussed this in more detail at the police station. You're under arrest."

Without any further warning, George found herself caught between two gendarmes, with each of her arms securely held by them as they marched her across the bridge towards the town. A million thoughts were going through her mind and already she was trying to form the story of Louise Aubert but all the time she was fighting the urge to struggle and pull away from these two men. Her common sense was telling her there was still a chance that this might just be a mistake and she might be able to talk her way free but it didn't look hopeful. Then she saw Emile sitting at the table outside the café exactly as they had planned. His face was impassive, betraying nothing to anyone around him but she knew his thoughts. She also knew he could do nothing to help her and she didn't blame him. She tried to look away, to give no hint that she knew anyone here. Emile was the Circuit Leader, he was important and he mattered to so many people. He mattered to her most of all. It was only when they drew immediately level that she allowed herself one brief sideways glance and his eyes met hers. She couldn't lie to him, not anymore. She was afraid but she could sense that he was afraid too and she knew that no matter what happened in the next few hours or days she wasn't alone. He cared about what was happening and she needed to trust that he would do his best whatever that might be.

When they arrived at the police station she had been handcuffed to a chair in a busy office for at least half an hour before the officer returned to interview her. She repeated her details exactly as they appeared on her identity papers. The address was false, of course. It was the biggest hole in her story and when they checked they would discover that she didn't live there. She would have to make up an excuse about moving and not having had time to notify them. It wouldn't wash but it would delay for a while. Once the basic details were completed the questions began.

"I'll ask you again, Mademoiselle Aubert, where did you obtain this work permit?"

"From the issuing office in Sainte Martin."

The officer tilted his head on one side as if trying to make her out, "Well, I put it to you that you're lying."

"No. I've told you the truth," George maintained trying to impart a hint of indignation.

"Perhaps it would interest you to know that I've recently transferred here from Sainte Martin and I'm very familiar with these permits." The officer informed her. "In fact, they were widely used and abused by a group of black marketeers in the Sainte Martin area, so much so that four months ago the permits and the stamps were changed. No one has issued any permits like this from that office since then but strangely your permit is only dated a month ago. Can you explain that?"

George now knew exactly where the blame for this error lay and why she had been caught although bad luck had played its part as well. However, she had no choice but to maintain her story. "There must have been a mistake."

The gendarme nodded in agreement, "Yes, someone has definitely made a mistake and it seems you will be paying the price, Mademoiselle."

There had been no way back from this revelation and George knew she had no hope of evading prison. Her papers were incorrect because they were out of date and it was obvious she could only have obtained them by illegal means. The officer no longer seemed interested in getting George to admit the error and focused his attention on finding out who she was working with. She realised quite soon that he was on a quest to break down another black market racket and he thought she was involved. This theory was not without problems but it was preferable to the truth and the longer spent on this line of enquiry the better but at the back of George's mind was the ever present fear that they would eventually discover that she had other reasons for carrying false papers.

When the gendarme had eventually grown tired of questioning George about her papers to no avail, she had been charged with possession of illegal documents then transferred to the prison while further investigations continued and told she could eventually expect a court hearing. On arrival at the prison her own clothes had been taken away and she had been given a standard drab, grey prison dress that hung like a shapeless sack and chafed her under the arms as well as being issued with a metal cup, plate and spoon. Now dressed and equipped like every other female inmate she had been marched along a corridor into the cathedral-like heart of the building which was three storeys high with cells to the left and right on every level accessed from iron gantries. Feeling daunted by her surroundings, she had gazed up to see skylights in the vaulted ceiling high above her, caught a glimpse of blue sky and the world beyond and taken it as a small sign of hope. Four days later with no idea of how long she would remain incarcerated here, stuck in the monotonous routine of long hours locked up and interspersed with only brief periods of food or exercise and with no idea of her eventual fate, her only consolation was that at least she was not in the hands of the Germans.

X-X-X-X

Pierre Dubois stood nervously before Emile, twisting his beret uncomfortably in his hands. He could tell by the expression on the Circuit Leader's face after he had imparted the latest news of Madeleine and the reason for her arrest that it had come as an unwelcome shock. It hadn't been easy for Pierre to come by the information as he didn't work in the main office of the prison, however, a few black market cigarettes had loosened the tongue of one of the men who worked in the Records Office, the one who Pierre had seen flouting the rules about smoking and judged to be more susceptible to persuasion than some of the older men. The casual conversation at lunch time, some shared banter about the young women prisoners seen passing through the exercise yard and he'd admitted that the best looking new arrival was a dark-haired girl called Louise Aubert who the police suspected of criminal activity within the black market as she had been arrested for carrying a false permit.

Emile swung around to face the other three men assembled in the room for the hastily convened meeting. It had been an anxious four days since that disastrous moment at the bridge when Emile had seen George arrested. He had followed at a discreet distance hoping there might be some way of wrestling her free from the clutches of the two police officers but to no avail. The streets had been busy and they were heading straight for the police station only a short distance away. He had watched them march her inside and knew then that any chance was gone. He had taken the risk of immediately calling Jacques at his bakery, conscious of the telephone lines being insecure and the ever present danger of listeners on the line and advised him that, "My sister has been taken ill." Jacques had comprehended his meaning at once and replied with concern, "I'm sorry to hear that. Is it something contagious?" Emile had weighed this up wondering just how much of a danger George's arrest posed to the rest of the circuit given that she appeared to have been taken to a police station rather than arrested by the Germans.

"It's too early to say. It may just be a localised infection. I think a doctor needs to do some tests and find out. Can you recommend anyone?"

There had been a pause on the line and then Jacques had said slowly, "Yes, I think I know of someone who could help. I'll call them for you."

Jacques, appreciating the urgency and seriousness of the situation, had been as good as his word and knowing that anyone arrested and held by the police would eventually be sent to the prison in Varennes, had contacted Pierre who was employed as a mechanic in the garage there servicing and maintaining the prison vans. Fortunately, in these difficult times he had also become a jack of all trades, turning his hand to many other repairs in the building. He wasn't ideally placed to find out the details of individual arrests but he had a relative degree of freedom to move around the prison and Jacques knew that he might be able to make discreet enquiries.

Now that Emile had heard the details of George's arrest he took in the concerned expressions of Jacques and Sebastian but his eyes rested squarely on Bernard.

"Where did you get those permits from?"

Bernard shrugged and looked away.

"Where?" Emile demanded without attempting to hide his anger.

"From a business contact who swore they were legitimate. Proper documents issued by the permit office."

Emile didn't like the sound of this. He could tell Bernard was hiding something and he suspected that he had gone beyond the tried and trusted sources they normally used and it had backfired to George's detriment. "How much did you pay?"

"Not as much as he will when I find him again," Bernard muttered and Emile rolled his eyes in annoyance, trying hard to resist the urge to grab him by the throat and make sure he knew just how stupid he had been but he settled for verbally venting his anger.

"You've put _everything_ at risk." It was George, not everyone else he was thinking about at that moment but he couldn't let them see that.

Jacques intervened, "However stupid Bernard was to trust this contact, the fact remains that Madeleine was caught with an illegal permit. How long will it take before her story collapses under questioning?"

Emile took a deep breath and tried to detach himself from the feelings of desperation that rose each time he thought of George locked up and under interrogation. His only small comfort for now was that she was in the hands of the French police.

"Why shouldn't her story stand up?" Bernard asked. "If the police think she's involved in the black market they won't be expecting her to tell them the truth about anything so she'll be acting true to form."

"But they'll have sources in that world," Emile interrupted. "And none of them will know her. In the end her story won't add up on any level. What then?"

There was silence in the room as they each contemplated George's current situation. In the end Emile voiced his true feelings, "We've got to get her out." He turned to Pierre, "Is there a way?"

Pierre shrugged. "I'm not an expert on how the prison operates. I just don't know, not immediately."

"Well, think about it," Emile urged none too patiently causing Sebastian to speak up for the first time.

"Phillipe, surely the fact that no one knows who Madeleine is or has connected her with this circuit means it's safer for everyone if she stays where she is…for now." He looked at Emile with emphasis and Emile realised he was thinking about the imminent operation that he didn't want to mention before Pierre. "If we spring her, we're just drawing attention to who and what she is not to mention the risk of others being captured in the process. There's too much to lose."

Emile knew that Sebastian was right. He had only been here a few days but he knew his business and spoke a great deal of sense and Emile felt he was a man whose opinion he could respect. Furthermore, Sebastian wasn't suffering from a conflict of interest. Emile was torn between his love for George and the duty he owed to everyone else.

"Maybe," Emile reluctantly conceded, "but we're still gambling with Madeleine's life."

No one spoke and Emile realised that they were waiting for his decision. He could go against them and demand that they take some sort of action and he knew by now that they would do as he asked but it could prove disastrous. The thought of inaction was anathema to him but Emile reluctantly felt that he must accept the advice that had been offered even if it went against every inclination to the contrary.

"Very well. Madeleine stays where she is." He turned to face Pierre and looked him in the eye, leaving him in no doubt that what he was about to say was serious. "If anything changes, _anything_ at all, you must let us know at once, Pierre. Understood?"

Pierre nodded. They shook hands and he left. They heard the front door of the house open and close and saw his shadow pass the window. Confident that he had now left and they could talk freely, Jacques spoke up.

"I know it's not what we want but it's the right thing to do, Emile. We need Madeleine to stay where she is until the operation is over. It's only a few more days and it's safer that way. At least she doesn't know the details. What she doesn't know, she can't tell."

Emile swallowed hard, his conscience pricked by the recollection of his conversation with George in the forest after the training exercise. He glanced around the room at the faces of his leaders. They seemed accepting of the situation and somehow confident that everything would turn out well. He knew instinctively that they weren't going to like what he had to say but he had no choice.

"Actually, there is something you need to know."

X-X-X-X

Hans Weber leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms out in front of him and interlaced his fingers hearing his knuckles crack as he sought to relieve the tension in his shoulders and neck caused by many hours hunched over his desk. He took a deep breath and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost six in the evening and he'd been up since five this morning co-ordinating a raid on the house of suspected resistance member. It had proved fruitless. The bird had flown thanks to forewarning or possibly poor intelligence in the first place. They'd had a run of bad luck recently, not least of which was the anonymous tip-off about a weapons drop to the resistance several days ago. They had been at the right place but unfortunately, not at the right time or at least not early enough to apprehend anyone despite sighting some suspects and carrying out extensive searches in the area.

When he had first arrived in this posting several weeks ago Weber had shaken a lot of things and a lot of people up. The previous post incumbent had been moved on to a less salubrious appointment thanks to his unenthusiastic attitude to his work. Weber, by contrast, had gone about his work with gusto, carrying out an immediate review of all the processes in place, identifying weaknesses, tightening up procedures and making some new appointments and the increase in activity levels had produced results. There had been more intelligence gathering and more arrests but in the last two weeks things had started to slow. They had been trying to track down a wireless operator in the area using their detector vans. The listeners were sure it was the same person. They knew the signature rhythm of his transmission and told Weber that he had a light hand but he was moving around, keeping the transmissions short and they couldn't pin him down to any area for long enough. However, Weber was sure that he would slip up eventually and they would get him. It was just a matter of perseverance like the failure to overrun the weapons drop site in time. It hadn't worked this time but the next time they might be luckier.

However, not everything was a matter of luck. Hard work had its part to play too and Weber believed in leaving no stone unturned. He cast his eye over all the reports that came into the office, kept detailed notes and files on anything he thought might be relevant and liked to review police reports and arrests in the area. His adjutant had placed a file of the latest police reports on his desk several hours ago but he had put it to one side, delayed by a series of phone calls and a particularly tedious meeting with one of his Gestapo colleagues who had no appreciation of the techniques he was employing in this role and seemed intent on riding roughshod over his plans. It irked him somewhat to work with such people and it took all his powers of diplomacy to keep his cool and stick to his chosen course of action. They were supposed to be on the same side but it didn't always feel that way.

Weber caught sight of the Police reports file to his right and reached out for it but was interrupted by the telephone ringing. He picked up the receiver.

"A call from a Mademoiselle Henry for you, Sir."

Weber couldn't help but suppress a smile. He had been right about the attractive blond woman from the bar last night. From the moment he had offered to light her cigarette and buy her a drink he had sensed that she was not really playing at hard to get and did not object to his company. He had behaved like the gentleman that he considered himself to be and it appeared to have worked.

"Mademoiselle Henry, I'm delighted that you called."

He hoped that he sounded as though he meant it considering it had been a long day but he was rewarded by hearing her accept his invitation to dinner. He glanced at the clock again and arranged to meet her at seven thirty. There should be sufficient time to return to his quarters to wash and change before heading out. If he had read her right it might well turn into a long night. He put down the receiver and considered calling it a day and going for a drink in the officer's mess to relax him before leaving but then he caught sight of the police file again and with a small degree of reluctance picked it up. He could scan through most of the summary sheets in ten minutes or so. He had become accustomed to sifting the wheat from the chaff and there was seldom much wheat to be found.

He opened the file and ran his finger down the list of arrests over the past few days. Most were for petty crimes: a few black marketeers caught selling their wares, a case of being drunk and disorderly, an assault following a dispute in the street and then one case that caught his eye in particular, a young woman arrested for carrying a false work permit. He flicked through the documents behind in the file looking for the details of the case and pulled out a charge sheet for the woman. Her name was Louise Aubert. She was twenty two years old and had been arrested early in the morning four days ago at a checkpoint on the bridge at Varennes. The date held his attention. He turned the page. A photograph was attached to the sheet. An attractive dark-haired young woman stared out at him and he realised with a sudden start of recognition that they had met before.

"Louise Aubert?"

He couldn't contain his surprise, even here on his own. He had seen her before but she had called herself Yvette Laurent on that occasion on the train. He could still recall his humiliation when he had turned up to call on her that evening with the intention of inviting her to dinner and found the white house in Courcelles occupied by an elderly couple who had no idea who Yvette Laurent was or why he was there.

"Well, Yvette, Louise or whoever you are, you're clearly up to something." He couldn't help rubbing his hands together at the thought of meeting her again but this time he was sure he would get her to do a lot more of the talking.

Weber picked up the telephone and rang through to his adjutant.

"Baumann, I need a French prisoner transferred here from the prison at Varennes. Louise Aubert."

The adjutant hesitated for a second, "Immediately, Sir?"

Weber realised that his adjutant was concerned that it was already late and would take time to get the paperwork together. Nothing happened without the right paperwork and it had been a long day for all of them. In any case Louise Aubert was going nowhere in a hurry. He was also conscious that time had run on and he was meeting the delectable Mademoiselle Henry in little more than an hour.

"Tomorrow will do, Baumann. Just send over the movement orders."

"Very good, Sir."

Weber put down the receiver, leaned back in his chair and smiled. His hard work was paying off. However, whilst Louise Aubert could wait until tomorrow a good dinner and even better company could not.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Thank you all for your patience and thanks for reading and reviewing. As always, I really appreciate it._**

 **Chapter Eight**

Emile lay on his stomach in a ditch partially obscured by undergrowth and slightly below the level of the road. He raised his head just a fraction high enough for his eyes to be able to scan into the distance and hearing the faint rumble of an engine tightened his grip on his rifle and tried to slow his breathing, reminding himself to stay calm and focused. Alongside him he sensed that Alain and Hubert, both primed and ready for action, were also engaged in a struggle to control their nerves. They were all well aware that they would have only one chance of success and no one felt it more keenly than Emile.

This plan had been formed in haste and Emile didn't like it but there was no other option. When Pierre Dubois, in great haste, had contacted Emile the evening before to tell him that a movement order for Louise Aubert had been sent by the Abwehr and instructions forwarded to the garage to add it to the transport list for the following day, Emile's first response was to ask if Pierre could do anything to prevent or delay the transport. The shock of realising that the Abwehr were now on to George changed everything. He knew that above all else they needed to buy time to put a plan together. It was with no small measure of gratitude that he learned how Pierre, at considerable risk to himself, had already taken steps to ensure that the prison van was disabled and out of action. All this he had learned an hour or so later after rushing out to meet him at a café near the prison. Pierre informed him that he had reported to the Transport Manager that the prison van would require replacement parts and it would take several days to fix. This was certainly true as Pierre had removed and disposed of the engine parts he claimed were defective. At the time the Transport Manager had looked far from pleased. He didn't like having to deal with the Germans but he had telephoned through to Abwehr headquarters to advise the requesting officer, a Lieutenant Baumann, that they could not transfer the Aubert prisoner for a few days. Pierre had hung around outside the office, ostensibly cleaning some tools at the end of the day but listening in to check that the order was going to be delayed. To his complete dismay, however, he heard the Transport Manager say, "Very well. As you wish," followed by a pause and then, "At what time?" Pierre had risked a glance through the glass window into the office and seen the Manager nod before replacing the receiver. There was a short pause while he wrote something onto a clipboard and then he picked up the receiver again and Pierre gathered that he was speaking to the custody officer as he informed him, "We've got some problems with the van here and there's been a change of plan. The Germans will be sending a car to collect the Aubert prisoner tomorrow morning at nine o'clock." This was not the outcome Pierre had been hoping for but there was nothing else he could do but complete his remaining tasks of the day as quickly as possible and head to a local café he often used to put a call through to Emile. It was clear from the pause before Emile replied that the news had come as a very unwelcome shock. His voice on the line was quiet, "You're sure about that?"

Pierre nodded. "There's no doubt."

For the second time in as many days Emile had been forced to convene a hasty meeting of his leaders and he confronted them immediately with the problem in hand.

"There's no choice now. Madeleine knows the details of the operation and tomorrow she'll be in the hands of the Germans. If we don't rescue her somehow there's a risk she'll tell them everything."

He hated sounding disloyal and wanted to say that in reality he knew that George would rather die than betray any of them but he couldn't make that assertion before them without them questioning him about his relationship with her and having them possibly doubt his ability to make an objective decision. What was more, knowing George, he feared that his words might be prophetic. She would give her life before she betrayed any of them or him but he wasn't prepared to let her make that sacrifice.

"We need a plan and we have no time for a dry run. It has to work first time." Emile looked around the room. Without exception everyone looked serious. They all knew that the long-planned operation was in jeopardy if they didn't manage to rescue Madeleine.

"There's only one route the car is likely to take from Varennes to Courcelles," Jacques began. "We'd need to know for certain what time the car leaves the prison and that Madeleine has definitely been moved." He turned to look at Pierre. "Can you do that?"

"It shouldn't be before nine," Pierre asserted, "But it could be any time after that. I may be able to call but I can't guarantee it. It will depend on whether the Transport Manager leaves his office."

Emile nodded. "Try to call if you can but if not we need a back-up. Any suggestions?"

"We could try Michel," Bernard suggested. "We've used him before and he won't be working."

"He's only sixteen," Emile observed, wary of involving someone so young. "And…." he paused wondering how to say that there were other reasons that he wasn't sure he could trust a tearaway who had a history of getting into trouble with the local police.

"He's old enough," Bernard said emphatically, "and in any case, he has other skills we can use." Emile decided to let the matter rest and trust his leader's faith in Michel. There simply wasn't time to have too many scruples.

"Very well. Then we need to find the right place."

Bernard produced a map of the area and they spread it out on the table and poured over the details looking for somewhere suitable. Eventually, they determined on the right spot and then formulated the plan, going over the details and everyone's roles multiple times until they were sure.

As they prepared to leave Emile took one last look at the small group. He hoped he was doing the right thing not just for the sake of his circuit and himself but also for George. They had only one shot at getting this right and the whole plan had to come together. He addressed them all, "Thank you for this. I won't forget it and neither will London." He reached out to shake each of them by the hand as they left but Jacques held onto his hand for a few seconds and looked him in the eye. "We're not doing this for London. We're doing it for Madeleine. She's one of us."

Emile was almost overcome with gratitude. It was a simple statement of solidarity and Jacques had no idea just how much it meant to him.

Now lying in the ditch hearing the sound of the car draw nearer and then catching the first sight of it in the distance, Emile pulled his scarf up over his face and, wishing he had been more devout in the past, offered up a silent prayer that everything would go according to plan.

X-X-X-X

George focused on the road ahead and tried to concentrate on keeping her breathing slow and steady whilst fighting the feeling of nausea in the pit of her stomach. The rocking motion of the car combined with the strong smell of petrol and leather would have been enough by itself to make her feel queasy but the identity of her travelling companions and the sinking realisation of the hopeless situation she now faced had exacerbated her symptoms and she felt as if she might throw up at any moment. Just for a brief few seconds the thought of messing up the uniforms of one or both of the men who sat either side of her, wedging her into the centre of the back seat, almost made her laugh out loud but it was nothing more than an anxious hysterical diversion from the main thought that dominated her mind; Weber might see and recognise her and if he did the game would be up.

There had been no hint that anything was going to happen that morning until the prison officer had unlocked the cell and ordered her outside into the corridor. It wasn't food or exercise time and wondering if she was to be taken to court or questioned again she had turned to him and asked, "Where am I going?" The Prison Officer, an impatient, sallow-faced young man with a poor excuse for a pencil moustache hovering on his top lip, had told her roughly to be quiet and, grabbing her by the elbow, had manoeuvred her through the hallways and corridors of the prison and then outside into the exercise yard. The fresh air after the cloying stench inside the building was welcome and she had gazed up into the sky, seen it was an overcast day and surprisingly cold for summer and felt strangely chilled.

When they had crossed the yard and headed through a door that she knew from other prisoners led to the garage, she had begun to suspect that she was being transported somewhere. Emerging into the garage she was shocked that instead of being told to get into the prison van she was confronted by the sight of a German staff car and two uniformed officers clearly waiting to take custody of her and she realised that her life was about to get a whole lot tougher.

Apart from the prison officer confirming her identity to the German officers very little was said and George had no desire to speak. She was still trying to take in the implications of the situation. She was grabbed by the arm and pulled over towards the car before being forced to sit between the two officers. In little more than a minute they had left the prison behind and were speeding through the town and heading west. Glancing at the lapel badge of the driver in front George realised with a start that he was a member of the Abwehr and, if it was possible at this moment, she felt her heart sinking even lower. She didn't dare to ask either of the men next to her where they were going but as they left Varennes behind she watched the direction in which they travelled and, now knowing the area much better from her courier activities and seeing the road signs, she concluded that they must be heading towards Abwehr headquarters in Courcelles.

It was the worst possible scenario and George's fears grew with each kilometre they covered. She had come to the Germans' attention and that could only mean that they suspected her of involvement in the resistance. There was every chance that when they arrived in Courcelles Weber would see her. She felt sure he would remember her from the train and then her chances of being able to maintain her innocence would be very slim indeed. The only possibility that flitted through her hasty, jumbled thoughts was to adopt the story that Emile and Jacques had suggested and try to pretend that she had been too embarrassed to turn Weber's dinner offer down. Perhaps she could pretend her family were very strict and religious and affect an air of innocence about such matters. She had been reticent on the train, Weber was sure to remember that. She could appear embarrassed and apologise for the white lie she had told. Above all she knew that she needed to keep talking and try to sound helpful and contrite. She doubted that Weber would believe her but the longer she could delay or divert the interrogation the better chance it would give everyone else in the circuit to get away. They would be sure to have found out where she was by now and eventually hear that the Germans had taken her into custody. She had to buy everyone as much time as possible. She also had to prevent Weber finding out that she was an SOE agent. Once he discovered that she knew he wouldn't just ask her about resistance members in this area. He would ask her many more detailed questions. She tried not to think beyond the idea of just questioning but she was well aware that her interrogators would resort to whatever means necessary to obtain the information they wanted and it was all the more reason in her mind to keep talking.

The car was winding its way through a small wooded area. It was a quiet road and they had been passed by no other traffic for several kilometres apart from being overtaken a few minutes ago by a uniformed motorcycle dispatch rider. The car was slowing on the approach to a junction ahead. George knew it would turn to the left towards Courcelles but just as they reached the place where the road divided her attention was caught by a black car travelling at speed and approaching from the left. Her impression was that it was travelling much too fast on such a quiet road and would have difficulty taking the bend but with a spray of gravel it suddenly came to a screeching halt directly in front of them. The German driver was forced to slam on the brakes to avoid a collision and they were all thrown violently forward towards the front seats. The driver cursed loudly and instinctively hit the car horn in frustration. Everyone in the back was momentarily shaken and George wondered for a second if she could wriggle free somehow in the confusion but her arms were already being dragged back and held fast and once again she was pinned down in her seat with no prospect of escape.

X-X-X-X

Emile was on tenterhooks as he watched Bernard drive the stolen Renault at speed into the bend of the road at the junction just as the German staff car containing George slowed to turn left towards Courcelles.

Michel had arrived on a motorcycle a few minutes ago dressed as a German military dispatch rider in a stolen uniform. It had proved a useful means of moving around the countryside at great speed without question on a number of occasions and he had past form for taking a motorcycle without permission and haring around on joy rides. He had also stolen and hot-wired more than one car in his time and Bernard had recognised it was a skill they could harness. There was no way that any of them could risk using a car of their own for a job like this. It had taken Michel only a few minutes to find a target and whisk it away. Emile only hoped that the local priest would be forgiving about the loss of his car when he discovered how it had been used.

Michel had ridden out here after receiving a telephone call from Pierre to confirm that George had left the prison in a staff car in the company of two Abwehr officers and a driver. His job had been to wait for the call at a garage owned by a sympathiser which was situated on the main road to Courcelles. They had reasoned that in the event of Pierre being unable to make the call Michel would be certain to see the distinctive car with its recognisable occupants pass by. He had waited there from eight o'clock that morning and when the call came shortly after nine he stayed in hiding watching the road until the car appeared. With so little non-military traffic it wasn't difficult to identify a German staff car with four occupants and one of them definitely a woman. As soon as it had passed by he changed into his stolen uniform and set out in pursuit, intending to pass it and ensure that Emile had advance warning of its imminent arrival. He had seen George sitting in the back of the car through the rear window as he approached it from behind and sped past putting plenty of distance between himself and the vehicle to make sure that he arrived a couple of minutes before them. It had been a relief to Emile to know that they were within touching distance of rescuing George but everything had to come together at the right moment. If they failed to stop the car in time there would be no other chance of reaching George before it was too late and they might add considerably to her problems.

The black Renault screeched to halt causing the German car to brake sharply to avoid a collision. The German driver honked the horn in an angry and impatient manner, expecting the other driver to move on out of his way but Bernard, keeping his head down, pretended to be having trouble and waved an apologetic hand towards the German car. The German driver hesitated for a moment.

Emile, Alan and Hubert broke cover and ran towards the German car, approaching it from the rear with the element of surprise on their side whilst the attention of everyone inside was focused on what was happening in front. Suddenly, the driver, seeing movement in his mirror, seemed to sense that something was wrong and put the car noisily into reverse intending to back away and pull round the Renault but Emile had anticipated this. As the three men rapidly drew nearer he yelled, "Aim for the tyres," and suddenly a volley of shots were directed at the lower half of the car, just as Bernard rolled out of the driver's seat of the Renault and took up position with his rifle resting across the bonnet of the car and aimed squarely at the driver.

The tyres of the staff car were punctured and its movement stalled and floundered but the driver tried to keep going and pull around the Renault. A single shot rang out and the car wavered and then careered off the road, colliding with a tree and grinding to halt. From the corner of his eye Emile saw Bernard stand up and knew he had fired the shot that had hit the driver. However, he also knew that they had to move quickly or the Abwehr officers in the car would come to their senses and return fire and George's life would be in as much danger from a firefight as her arrest. Reaching the car he threw caution to the wind and yanked open the left hand door just as Alain reached the other side and did the same. The Abwehr officers inside looked shaken but otherwise unhurt but George wasn't moving. Emile aimed his rifle at the head of the officer on the left as Alain did the same on the other side. In the front seat Emile could see the driver slumped over the wheel, still breathing but with blood pouring from a wound to his arm. Bernard had also reached them by now and he pulled the driver's door open, searched and then removed a revolver from the barely conscious man, pocketing it for future use before dragging him out and to the side of the road.

Emile risked a quick glance at George. She was slumped forward and not moving, her hair across her face and he felt fear grab at his heart, fear that she had been hit but he concentrated on dealing with the Abwehr officers.

"Get out, slowly and put your hands up," He stepped away from the car keeping his rifle trained on the first man who staggered out in an ungainly fashion. Hubert stepped forward and relieved the man of his gun. On the other side of the car, the second officer was being dragged out of the car by an impatient Bernard whilst Alain kept him under observation.

"Take them into the woods and tie them up, " Emile instructed. He saw a look in Bernard's eyes that suggested this was not the conclusion he had envisaged and Bernard hissed at him, "Why are you sparing them?"

"Because we don't want any retribution for this," Emile replied under his breath. "The driver looks like he'll live. If we kill them all, innocent people will suffer."

He could tell that Bernard didn't like this but he kept his thoughts to himself and said nothing more then he, Alain and Hubert pushed the two men at the end of a rifle towards the woods and dragged the driver along with them until they were out of sight of the road.

Emile turned rapidly to the car and to his relief he heard a groan from George and saw movement. He leaned inside, calling urgently, "George, are you alright?"

She lifted her head and sat back in the seat, rubbing a red mark above her right eye. She sounded dazed. "Yes, I think so. I just banged my head."

Relief washed over Emile at the fact that she hadn't been hurt during the shooting but there wasn't time to talk, "You've got to get out and we'll move the car, somehow."

He reached in and she grasped his hand. He pulled her out of the car towards him. She felt a little shaky although whether it was from the shock of the ambush or the rush of emotion that her sudden and unexpected rescue had caused she couldn't tell. Emile put his arm around her and helped her move away. They had only taken a few steps when she looked to her left and cried, "Germans! Look out!"

Emile released her and swung around with his rifle pointing down the road in time to see a uniformed motorcycle dispatch rider running up the road towards them. To George's astonishment, however, Emile started to laugh and shocked by his reaction and fearing something was wrong with him, she reached out and tried to wrestle his rifle from him intending to aim and shoot it before the soldier got to them. Emile pulled the rifle back from her, "Stop it George. It's not a German, it's Michel."

George didn't seem convinced but as the soldier got closer she could see that it was in fact just a young lad in an ill-fitting uniform and he was smiling broadly and then she remembered the motorcycle dispatch rider who had overtaken them. Emile had insisted that he stay back out of sight until everything was concluded. Even if the lad was a tearaway he didn't want him implicated in what had happened. However, he had been watching from a distance and realising that the coast was clear had come to help them.

"Just in time, we need to move this car," Emile called to Michel and together with some assistance from an unsteady George, they managed with great difficulty to roll it back away from the road and into the bushes a little further away, pulling some branches down to hide it.

Emile walked back to the road and wiped the sweat from his brow. It had been hard work and taken longer than he had anticipated. He was anxious to get away as quickly as possible but he could now see Bernard, Hubert and Alain returning and knew they would all be on their way in a minute or so. He gazed down at George. She looked pale and tired. The grey prison dress was at odds with her normal appearance and made her look paler still and the mark above her eye was already turning into a purple bruise.

"I'm glad to see you in one piece."

She nodded. "Thanks to you. But you took a big risk."

A smile hovered on his lips and he whispered under his breath just loud enough for her to hear, "I couldn't let them hurt you."

Bernard and the others had reached the road and Emile turned towards them instantly their Circuit Commander again. "You did as I asked, Bernard?" It was a statement of fact rather than a question.

Bernard nodded. "They'll have a headache when they come round but they are definitely alive."

"Good," Emile held the other man's gaze. "Let's go."

It was a squeeze to fit five of them into the black Renault but they only travelled a few kilometres before dropping off Alain and Hubert to make their own way by other means. Michel returned on the motorcycle, his part in the events concluded. Bernard had been right about him and Emile reckoned they could make use of him again. A few kilometres further on Bernard pulled up at a small country church on the outskirts of the village of Beaussart.

"We're getting out here," Emile instructed. "Jacques will be along to collect us soon."

They climbed out of the car whilst Bernard kept the engine running. Emile leaned in through the window, "Thank you for your help, Bernard." Bernard glanced at him but being a man of few words said nothing more and then pulled away heading for the nearest town where he could dump the car before making his way home.

"We'd better keep out of sight." Emile told George, looking hastily around him. Seeing no one he grasped her by the hand and led her into the churchyard.

They settled down behind the wall out of sight of the road. The sun had finally emerged from behind the clouds and it was beginning to warm up after the early chill. Even so, George shivered slightly and Emile noticing it, took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. She was glad of its warmth and the residual warmth of him still contained within its folds.

"Jacques will bring you some new clothes. You can't be seen in that," he gestured to the prison dress.

"No, it's a bit obvious," George agreed with the first hint of a smile, "Not to mention hideous."

Emile grinned. "You'd look better without it."

George caught his eye and could barely suppress the laugh that was trying to escape. It felt so unbelievably good to joke with him again, the way they once had so long ago before all of this. She reached out a hand to touch his face and stroke his cheek. He caught it, held it to his lips and kissed her fingers.

"I was so worried about you, George. After the night of the drop I didn't know what I'd do if…" he couldn't continue.

"I tried not to think about it." She looked into his eyes, "Besides, I knew you'd do something, if you could."

He smiled again. "Am I that predictable?"

"No. I just know that I can trust you."

She kissed him and he wrapped his arms around her grateful and relieved beyond measure that the rescue plan had worked. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he didn't know what he would have done if it had failed. There hadn't been another plan. There was only one chance of success and he'd taken it.

They sat in silence, huddled close together listening only to the sound of the breeze in the trees and the birds in the churchyard. It was only when the sound of a car approaching disturbed the peace that Emile disentangled himself from George and cautiously crept along the wall to the gate to get a view of the road whilst George waited with her heart pounding, fearing that it might be a patrol in search of her even though her commonsense told her that surely enough time couldn't have elapsed for the alarm to be raised yet. She watched Emile anxiously but was relieved a moment later to see him glance back in her direction and give her a thumbs up sign. It was Jacques.

Emile moved back along the wall.

"Come on, Jacques will drive you to the safe house. You'll need to stay in hiding now until we can get you out."

George was struck by his words. "Get me out?"

Emile nodded. "You can't go back to Varennes or your lodgings. It's too risky."

She hadn't thought about it but he was right. Despite the fact that she had been arrested under a false name it was far too much of a risk to return to her old lodgings even under the name of Marie Bouchard. There might be posters in the area or local police on the lookout for her.

"Alright but you can get me new papers, can't you?"

Emile rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from her and George realised he was hiding something.

"What is it? What did you mean just now?"

Emile fiddled with his rifle strap and cleared his throat. "You have to stay at the safe house until you go back."

"To where?"

He looked at her. "To England. Louis will request a pick up as soon as possible. You have to return. You're compromised here."

"I don't want to leave." She stared at him. "I don't want to leave, not with the operation so close."

Emile was shaking his head. He had known this might happen and hoped, in vain, that she would just see sense and go along with his decision. He really didn't want to argue with her about this. Jacques' van was pulling up on the other side of the wall and Emile stood and raised a hand to him. He turned back to George, "Come on. We have to go."

George stood up too but didn't move. "Let me go on the operation, Emile. You need all the help you can get and what difference can it make now? If the Germans are looking for me and I'm caught on the operation, well, at least it will all have been for something. Let me go with you."

He saw the pleading expression in her eyes, heard the emotion in her voice and knew how passionately she meant what she said. There was some sense in her argument. She had been rescued to prevent information about the operation being given up under interrogation. If she lay low until the operation she was right that it could make no difference if she took part but on the other hand he knew how much he loved her and how much he wanted to keep her safe. His heart and his head were in conflict. He took a deep breath.

"Please, not now. Not like this, George."

"Why? You know I can do this. You said as much yourself. Are you trying to protect me?"

He turned back to her. "Yes, but from yourself more than anything." She heard emotion in his voice and the expression on his face left her in no doubt that he loved her and hated the thought of what she was suggesting.

She reached out and caught his hand, not caring if Jacques could see. Her voice was quiet and calm, "I didn't come here to be safe. I came here to do a job. Please, Emile, let me do that job."

He looked into her eyes. This was why he loved her, why he had always loved her from the first moment he had seen her in that dance hall two years ago and this was what he had recognised in her, the thing that marked her out among everyone else.

"Alright. You win. But when it's over you go back to England on the first flight available. Understood?"

She nodded, "You're the boss."

She turned away from him and he watched her walk towards the waiting van. He shook his head whispering under his breath, "If only I thought that was true."

He wished he could have persuaded George to stay away from the operation but in his heart he knew that no matter how much he felt for her he couldn't deny her the right to be the person she was. In spite of himself he smiled. He might as well have saved his breath.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed this story. Please accept my apologies for the long delay in updating. I'm sorry if it might have appeared that I'd lost interest in continuing but I haven't. It's that busy time of year again with a lot of demands on everyone's time so I'm partly blaming the delay on the approach of the festive season – whoever invented the idea of Christmas presents? However, I have to confess that although I have the whole storyline in my head and I know where this is all heading, sometimes it also takes me a while to work out how it will all come together as a narrative so I also have to blame a bit of the delay on my indecision as well. Hopefully, it will progress a little more rapidly from here. Thanks again for your patience._**

 ** _So, where were we? Emile has succeeded in rescuing George from the Abwehr and despite misgivings or perhaps simply the fact that he loves her, he has been persuaded to let her take part in the imminent operation…._**

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

George studied the expression on Emile's face as he delivered his final words to Jacques, Bernard and Sebastian. He looked serious and determined and yet she also knew he was tired. The twitch in his right temple as he raised his eyes from the plan on the table to regard the three other men in the room, the way he shrugged his shoulders to relieve tension and the deep breath he took before he uttered his last words, all betrayed his weariness, if only to her.

"Let's make this a success, gentleman. I have every faith in you and…" he paused and turned his head a fraction, catching George's eye, "I'm proud to have worked with all of you."

He reached out to shake each of them by the hand. Not a word was spoken. There was nothing more to be said. The plans had been discussed in great detail and every scenario they could imagine deliberated. Each man knew his role and had a small team assigned to work with him each of whom had been trained, briefed and was ready in place. The operation would take place tonight and was the culmination of weeks of work.

Jacques was the last to leave. He crossed the room to George and smiled at her, "Good luck, Madeleine." He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. In a short time she had developed a great affection and respect for Jacques. He was solid, resourceful, committed and dependable and she knew that Emile respected him a great deal.

"Good luck to you too, Jacques." She returned his smile, sincerely hoping that all would go well for him and that both parts of the operation would be a success. Then with a final nod to Emile, Jacques too was gone.

George, like the others, was dressed in dark clothing ready for the operation which would take place once darkness fell in little more than an hour. She reached out to pick up her rifle from the table but Emile moved towards her and put out a hand to stop her, "Wait a moment, George." She looked up at him. The weariness was still there in his eyes but also something else which looked like concern.

"Are you alright?" she couldn't help asking even though she knew he must be experiencing the same nerves as everyone else now that everything was about to come to fruition. He reached out his arms and pulled her close to him. She rested her head on his chest, the rough material of his shirt rubbing against her cheek but somehow comforting her too and heard the strong, steady beat of his heart. His chest rose and fell a couple of times before he answered her.

"I just hope there isn't something we've forgotten."

George looked up at him. "There isn't. You've been over everything a dozen times."

Emile sighed again hoping she was right, "Yes, but I just have a feeling about this and I can't put my finger on it."

George reached up both hands to his face, holding it firmly between her palms hoping to reassure him, "You've thought of everything you can, Emile, and it has to be today. There's no other choice."

Emile was well aware that today was the only day possible for the operation. Weeks of planning had gone into the two stage attack on the armaments factory in Granville and a large shipment that was due to be transported by rail that night to Germany. From the moment they had cultivated a sympathetic contact within the factory offices until the final briefings this afternoon all efforts had been directed towards this operation. It was the perfect moment to make a double strike.

Emile, Bernard and Sebastian would lead a sabotage party into the factory. The office contact had managed to smuggle out an impression of one of the keys for a seldom-used side door and a new key had been made. The main issue would be getting through the perimeter fence and avoiding the patrolling guards. They had debated this issue at length during the past week since George's rescue and formed a plan.

Holed up at a distant safe house, hidden away with nothing much to occupy her apart from a few books, George had felt separate and disengaged from everything during the past week, lost in limbo but still anxious to know what would be happening. She understood that she had to lie low for everyone's sakes. The Germans had put up posters of her in the area since her escape and she knew there would be people tempted to betray her for reward and for that reason she had not gone out in public since Jacques had brought her to the smallholding in the village of Neuville where she was being hidden by a middle-aged couple in the attic of their cottage. The weather had been very warm for the past few days and George had found it stifling to be up in the roof space but the alternative didn't bear thinking about and she was thankful that she only needed to worry about the heat.

On the day of the rescue Emile had parted company with her before they reached the safe house saying it was better not to be seen anywhere near the place, better for all of them.

"Jacques will fetch you when it's time for the operation but in the meantime, keep out of the way and see if you can do anything to change your appearance."

There hadn't been much George could think of but she had obtained some black hair dye from Madame Moreau who told her in a low voice that her husband didn't know that she touched up her grey roots whenever she could and she didn't want him to find out. With her newly darkened hair, George certainly looked different and with the addition of some glasses and her hair scraped back into a more severe style she certainly managed to look a good deal plainer than had ever been the case. At first glance alone she didn't resemble her former self and she hoped it would be enough to avoid notice in a crowd. When Emile had first seen her this evening as she arrived with Jacques his mouth had fallen open in surprise before being replaced by a grin, "Pity you didn't look like that when you met Weber on the train. He'd never have paid any attention to you then."

George couldn't help returning the smile, "It's not very gallant of you, Phillipe, but given the circumstances I'll take that as a compliment."

The others in the room had turned away for a moment on some point of discussion and Emile's grin had softened into a smile which was intimate and for her alone and she realised how much she had missed him during the long, solitary week in the attic. Once her initial nerves from the ambush and rescue had receded she had leisure to think about her time here in France and to reflect on how little suited she was to a life of inactivity. Joining SOE and coming to France had been the best thing she could have done. She was needed here, she had a job she could do and she felt alive in a way that had never been possible before. Meeting Emile again had also brought into focus how much of her feelings she had been hiding, burying them beneath her work on the ack-ack site in England and her training with SOE. She had ploughed all her efforts into succeeding with her pursuits during the eighteen months they had been apart but it was only now that she was here with him that she felt as if every moment truly counted.

"I'm glad you're here," he said almost as if he had read her thoughts and in spite of the fact that it was contrary to everything he had thought even a little while ago. He knew she had pleaded with him to take part in this operation, playing on her training and usefulness to them all but even so his sense of caution and his love for her had worked hard to persuade him she should not be involved. However, now that the time had finally come he was glad she was here by his side and he knew with complete certainty that he had could trust her.

George had only learned the final details of the operation at the briefing this evening and had been informed that it would be her role to wait and keep watch with Hubert at the Perimeter fence whilst Emile, Bernard, Sebastian and Alain would undertake the sabotage work in the factory. Alain and Bernard had spent three long nights this week hidden outside the perimeter fence watching and documenting the German guard patrols and had established that there was a regular pattern of patrols at intervals of approximately six minutes. This had initially posed a problem as they needed to cut the wire of the perimeter fence in order to access the factory compound and they knew that there would not be enough time to lay the charges before the guards returned to discover the break-in and raise the alarm. However, they had observed that there was a fifteen minute break each evening when the guard shifts changed over and that would allow sufficient time for them to break-in, lay the charges and get away before the guards returned to discover the perimeter had been breached. They would set the fuses to coincide with the point at which the guards returned and thereby hope to prevent the sabotage being discovered and their efforts foiled.

The priority in all their deliberations when discussing the operation had been to minimise the risk to any French workers on site even if Bernard had maintained that anyone working for the Germans could expect no sympathy and he saw no reason to make allowances for them. Emile, however, had successfully argued that the only way of carrying out the sabotage was when the factory was largely unmanned and they already knew from their contact that there would be a break in production that evening, as there had been for many weeks now. Supplies of fuel had run low as the tide of the war had begun to turn for the Germans on the Eastern front and the factory had been forced to slow production, cutting the night shift as a means of saving fuel. They knew that they had a small window of opportunity in which to access the factory floor while no French workers were present, lay the charges on delayed fuses in the right places on the machinery to maximise the damage and hopefully to get away. The plans of the factory floor and details of the equipment within were those that George had collected and carried from the Pharmacy in Granville weeks ago and they had been used by Sebastian to draw up a plan. Now everyone involved in the operation, including George, knew the access points of the building and the layout by heart.

Whilst the party led by Emile and Sebastian would target the factory, Jacques would lay charges on the railway line twenty kilometres east of Granville ready to blow up and derail the freight train carrying the vitally needed armaments being shipped from the factory. The train was scheduled to leave Granville station at ten o'clock and they hoped that the attacks would be almost simultaneous. It would be a significant blow, a triumph of planning and a major achievement for the circuit. It was the perfect time to strike but perhaps it was this very fact that was bothering Emile and despite George's assertions he still seemed uncertain and she wanted to quell his concerns.

"We can only do our best, Emile. No one could say we've done any less."

He saw the determination in her eyes and heard the emotion and sense of purpose in her voice and drew strength from it. "I must have been mad, thinking I could have done this without you."

George frowned, "Didn't your Squadron Leader call you a 'mad bastard' once?"

Emile smiled at the words, touched that George had recalled a conversation from long ago and remembering his old friend, the one who had uttered those words back then, "No, it was Charles and he'd certainly think he was right if he could see me now."

George leaned towards him, conscious that these last moments were precious, "Well, don't waste any more time. Kiss me, you mad bastard, before it's too late."

X-X-X-X

The factory buildings loomed up ahead just beyond the woods on the southern side of the site which sprawled over four hectares. The towers and roofs of the factory buildings emerged out of the darkness as the small group crept undercover of the trees towards the perimeter fence. Bernard was leading the way and he signalled with a raised hand for the group to stop. Emile moved up alongside him and George, crouching close behind, heard Bernard whisper, "This is it."

Emile glanced at his watch and looked back at Sebastian and Alain, "The guards should be here in three minutes. As soon as they've turned and are out of range, we go. On my signal. Understood?"

Sebastian and Alain nodded. Emile turned to George and Hubert, "Madeleine keep watch to the left. Hubert take the right. Good luck."

George cast him one final look. Hope, love, concern were all written in her expression. He caught it and held it. He didn't need to say anything more to her. She understood all there was to know.

They all lay low on the ground, heads down, waiting for the guards to appear on their final circuit before returning to the main guard house near the factory main gates where the watch would change for the long night shift. Three minutes had never seemed so long to George but the time came and went without any sign of a guard appearing. Emile glanced at his watch. Five minutes had passed. Was it possible the routine had changed or something had happened to delay them?

"Bernard?" he whispered with a hint of concern apparent in his voice but Bernard held up a hand as just at that moment the first pinprick of torchlight appeared in the distance to their right and then half a minute later a similar light appeared from the left. Both guards were approaching and would pass in a minute or two as they had expected.

George's heart began to quicken, knowing that very soon the operation would begin in earnest. The guards finally met just beyond the place where they were all lying and to everyone's annoyance they paused and exchanged a few words. One of them laughed at what appeared to be a joke before finally, thankfully, they moved on again. They all waited just long enough for the guards to move out of hearing and to be sure that they wouldn't turn back for any reason before Emile raised his head and said in a whisper, "Let's go, gentleman."

The four men rose from the bushes and crept down to the perimeter fence and immediately began to cut through the wire. Each snip of the wire seemed inordinately loud to George and she feared that the guards might hear despite the fact that they were now more almost a hundred metres away. In a minute or two they had cut through enough wire to peel it back and create a hole big enough for a man to climb through. Emile went first swiftly followed by the others and they headed across the short stretch of open ground to the door in the wall of the buildings on the other side.

George waited for the door to open but there seemed to be an unnecessary delay and some sort of fumbling with the lock. Then she spotted both Emile and Bernard engaged in a struggle to prise the door open before with an audible grating sound of metal on concrete the seldom-used door reluctantly gave way. It was obvious that it hadn't been used for years and George realised that it must have been rusted up and resistant to movement but it was with relief that she finally saw all four men slip inside the dark building and she settled down as best she could, with her senses primed for sound or movement and her hands poised on her rifle, to keep watch and wait for their return.

X-X-X-X

Emile glanced at his watch.

"We need to be out of here in two minutes, Sebastian."

The sabotage and explosives expert didn't even look up from his work as he continued to pack the explosives under the machine and attach the detonator and timer, as he muttered, "We will."

Across the factory floor Emile could see Bernard and Alain completing the same task in the dim beam of the torchlight. They had worked rapidly laying a circuit of explosives as instructed by Sebastian which would, if all went to plan, put the main plant and machinery out of action for months.

After a short struggle at the side door with the newly forged key which had stuck in the lock at their first few attempts and door hinges that hadn't moved in years, both contributing to Emile's concern that they were about to fall at the first hurdle, they had accessed the building. With the floor plans imprinted in their minds they proceeded with swift caution through the darkened factory buildings to find the main plant room. Here they had spread out, each taking several packs of explosives and detonators from the back pack Sebastian had been carrying and gone about their work, wiring them to the equipment before linking the explosives to form a circuit. All the while they had been listening out for the approach of footsteps but all had been quiet apart from the startled scurry of a couple of rats who had not expected any company at this time of night. Emile frequently checked his watch, counting down the time they had been at work and mentally updating himself on how long they had left. As soon as he had finished he had hurried over to Sebastian who was doing the final work.

They were soon joined by Bernard and Alain who had also finished but Sebastian was still trying to set the final fuses.

"Go ahead," Emile urged the two men, "We'll join you." They needed no further encouragement and set off, heading for the side door and perimeter fence. Emile moved his torch to highlight the area Sebastian was working on. He picked out a look of intense concentration on the older man's face and saw a few beads of sweat forming on his brow. This was the culmination of Sebastian's work for the past few weeks and he clearly felt the weight of responsibility.

"You're doing a good job," Emile said quietly trying to reassure himself as much as his expert.

"Let's hope it works." Sebastian sounded terse and Emile silently hoped he was right. To fail after putting in so much effort would be a bitter blow to everyone.

Sebastian scrambled to his feet "Ok, it's done. We've got six minutes let's get out of here."

They hurried across the factory floor, two dark shapes moving as quickly and silently as possible, aware as always of the danger of encountering the enemy but their movements now had an added urgency due to the impending explosion. They needed to get out of the building and as far away as possible before the explosion took place. Somewhere in the back of his mind Emile thought briefly of Jacques and his group waiting in the dark on a deserted stretch of railway track for the freight train from Granville to reach the detonation point. They had planned to set charges at intervals along the line, intending to destroy the main engine before blowing up the rest of the train in stages and had no intention of leaving anything salvageable behind.

The side door was ahead of them and they could see Bernard and Alain crouched there. Alain had his hand poised over the handle about to open the door. There was still time to spare and Emile felt a surge of optimism. Just a minute more and they would all be able to make their getaway then sit back and watch the fireworks.

X-X-X-X

The German guard was early. The moment he had appeared in the distance to her right, George knew they were in deep trouble. With every second that passed and every step he took towards them she realised that the hope of the sabotage party getting away before the break-in was discovered or the explosives detonated was disappearing. At any minute they might emerge from the side door and be seen but even if they didn't the guard would be sure to spot the cut wire and hole in the fence and the alarm would be sounded. She glanced at Hubert and could tell from the tense expression on his face that his thoughts mirrored her own. She saw him raise the muzzle of his rifle a fraction and guessed that he intended to shoot the guard as he drew near. There was no other option but even that would only buy them minimal time. The sound of a shot firing would bring every guard at the factory running.

The guard was now about thirty metres away. His torch swung back and forth as he walked towards them and George held her breath anticipating the moment its beam would pick out the cut wire of the fence through which the others had entered when, to her dismay, she caught sight of movement and realised that the side access door was about to open. Her first instinct was to yell a warning at the top of her voice but she curbed it, hoping that the others would show caution or sense the impending danger and stay put but the door continued to crank open.

Hubert raised his rifle and began to take aim just at the moment that George detected movement to her left and realised that a second guard was approaching from the opposite direction. The first one on the right had spotted his comrade approaching and raised his torch aiming it ahead to pick the man out just as the side door of the factory opened fully and Alain emerged. A harsh voice rang out.

"Halt."

Alain was startled for a second by the lights and the sound of the guard's voice but realisation of what was happening immediately dawned and paying no heed to the instructions he started to make for the fence. The German guard raised his rifle just as Hubert opened fire in his direction. He missed and the guard fired towards Alain who staggered and fell. Shots began to rain down on them from the left as the second guard, seeing what was happening, joined in. George took aim and started to fire in the direction of the guard on the left but he was some distance away and the light was poor and she could offer little more than covering fire aimed in his general direction. From the corner of her eye she could see Bernard, Sebastian and Emile emerging. She recognised the outline of Bernard, crouched low to the ground, zigzagging across the open space between the buildings and the fence. He had reached Alain and was attempting to grab him by the jacket and drag him along with him but progress was slow and Alain seemed unresponsive. Shots were now being fired from the factory building as well and George realised that Emile and Sebastian were also shooting in the direction of the guards trying to cover Bernard's escape. She continued shooting to the left, trying to deter the guard from firing but ever conscious that German reinforcements would be sure to arrive at any moment alerted by the firefight that was ensuing.

Bernard had been forced to abandon Alain and seeing no movement from him as he lay prostrate on the ground, George feared he might be dead. Bernard reached the gap in the fence and threw himself into the narrow space, snaring his coat in the process but pulling away with all his might, rending the coat in two as he freed himself. He reached George and Hubert crying, "Fucking Boche, they've got Alain."

He turned back at once and started to shoot towards the guards with an unbridled fury, the intensity of his actions fuelled by his anger.

Sebastian was now making a run for it and thanks to Bernard's additional firepower they managed to hold the guards at bay long enough for the big man to reach the fence and clamber through.

"We can't stay here much longer," Bernard yelled, raising his head and gesturing wildly in the direction of Emile, who having given up covering the escape of the others, started to cross 'no man's land' towards the fence just as George spotted other fast moving torches heading in their direction indicating the arrival of German reinforcements. Almost immediately the firing began again in earnest and intensity.

Emile was moving rapidly, crouched low and zig-zagging as he did so to frustrate the chance of an easy shot but he paused when he reached Alain, throwing himself flat on the ground, intent on checking on his comrade for a few seconds despite the bullets ripping into the ground near him.

"Come on," Sebastian yelled at the top of his voice and Emile, sensing that he could do nothing more for Alain, dragged himself back to his feet and keeping low started to make for the fence again. He was only ten metres away when he, faltered and then jerked backwards almost as if someone had punched him and then rolled onto his back on the ground, his head turned away from them all.

George's heart seemed to freeze in her chest. She couldn't see Emile moving and was paralysed by fear and disbelief, unable to process what had just happened until Bernard cried, "Phillipe's been hit. We've got to get out of here."

He tried to grab George by the arm and drag her away but she couldn't accept what he was saying. Her head was refusing to acknowledge his words. She struggled with him, "No, we've got to get him."

"He's dead," Bernard yelled back at her, "You will be too if you don't move."

Bernard tried to drag her by the arm again, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh and succeeded in moving her about five metres but her legs couldn't or wouldn't carry her as her mind tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Bernard was talking about Emile, the man she loved. She staggered, still in shock at what had happened as shots continued to rain down on them but she couldn't believe his words. In desperation she jerked her head back in the direction of the fence looking for Emile, seeking confirmation of the truth as she was still unwilling to believe what she had seen but already, in her anguish, she was painfully certain of one thing; her life would never be the same again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The bullet had ripped through Emile's shoulder, its force roughly throwing him back to the ground as intense, burning pain, seared through his flesh and muscles like a hot poker. For a few moments, he was lost to everything although dimly aware of the sound of bullets flying through the air and voices shouting in French and German. He had no awareness of how long he had lain still but in spite of the pain something galvanised him to move and he raised his head, trying to roll onto his side and then remembering his comrades he looked towards the fence only to see the group moving away and abandoning him.

He realised what had happened, of course. From the moment he and Sebastian had approached the side door he had known they were in trouble. As they neared it a shot had rung out somewhere ahead of them in the darkness swiftly followed by another and then a full volley of shooting had begun and both he and Sebastian had momentarily frozen.

"Shit," Emile realised at once that something must have gone wrong but there was now no time to waste. They turned the corner and saw the partially open side door. Bernard was crouched at the door, firing outside at something unseen. He heard Emile approaching and looking over his shoulder, yelled, "The guards have returned early. Alain went out but he's been hit."

It was the worst scenario but the clock was ticking and the fuses were set. They had to get out.

"Go now, Bernard. We'll cover you."

Bernard heeded him and made a run for the fence whilst Emile and Sebastian raked the surrounding area with rifle fire. He was aware of shooting from the other side of the fence and knew that George and Hubert would also be there trying to cover their escape. Bernard had stopped to check on Alain but the fact that he had left him and moved on told Emile that their comrade was dead. Bernard had now reached the hole in the fence but was caught on the wire and frantically tugging at his coat until he freed himself and rolled through to the other side.

"You next, Sebastian."

There was only time for a brief nod before Emile's SOE colleague launched himself across the no man's land between the factory buildings and the fence, crouching low and zig-zagging. He reached the relative safety of the fence in a few seconds and now it was Emile's turn. He knew there was little more than five or six minutes left on the fuses they had laid and they all needed to get away as fast as possible. He heard Sebastian yell at him to move and took a deep breath as he launched himself out and across the open ground. He had covered two thirds of the distance before the bullet poleaxed him. In the split second before the pain surged through him Emile wondered what had happened before the shock realisation dawned that he had been hit.

Now, coming back to his senses, desperation took hold and despite the sickening pain that coursed through him each time he moved he started to rise and drag himself after his comrades. It was his only chance. He knew then with clarity of thought he had never experienced before that he'd rather die than be captured like this. Then a voice he knew so well seemed to carry to him through the darkness above the sound of the firefight, "Emile!"

He looked up and identified the unmistakeable shape of George detaching from the group at the fence, pulling away from Bernard on the other side and running back, crouching low and coming through the hole in the wire towards him without seeming to notice or care about the danger. Covering shots into the compound resumed from the other side of the fence and in a moment George was alongside him, having thrown herself onto the ground.

"Come on. You're not staying here."

He heard the urgency in her voice and something else that he realised was relief as her arm came around his waist and she tried to take his weight and use her strength to help him move. He knew she would struggle and forced himself to get to his feet. Together they staggered the last few metres towards the fence where hands reached out to pull him through the hole. The pain in his shoulder intensified and as they dragged him through he blacked out for a short time only to open his eyes again and see George's face hovering above his.

"George." It was no more than a whisper unheard by the others but he saw her smile briefly before two sets of strong arms lifted him to his feet and started to manhandle him away from the fence into the welcome cover of the trees and bushes beyond. Shots continued to fire from behind him whilst Hubert worked to hold the German guards in the compound at bay for as long as he dared before finally charging after them all, knowing that the moment he left they would try to pursue them.

They moved as fast as they could through the trees, anxious that they might be overrun before reaching their van which had been parked out of sight near the rough track that led from the main road into the woods.

The deafening explosion that rended the air a few seconds later shocked them with its intensity and stopped them briefly in their tracks as they turned to catch a glimpse of shooting flames and smoke through the trees.

"That'll keep the bastards busy," Bernard yelled with a vehemence that Emile had never heard before. It was almost as if Bernard felt this strike on the factory was personal and he sensed instinctively that Bernard's anger had much to do with the loss of Alain. Any commander worth his salt would feel the loss of one of his men keenly and there had been no time to pause or pay his respects.

Even in his weakened state Emile was conscious, however, of a moment of triumph. They had succeeded and hit the target and he prayed that Jacques had been as fortunate with the train derailment before he realised through what seemed like fog before his eyes, that they had finally reached the van. The back doors were opened and he was manhandled inside and was finally, to his relief, able to lie down whilst the others scrambled in alongside him. The last thing he remembered as torchlight flashed over his body and came to rest on his shoulder was George's anxious voice somewhere above him saying, "It looks bad."

X-X-X-X

The expression on Monsieur Moreau's face told George everything she needed to know; he didn't want them here and she couldn't blame him. Who would want a seriously injured man dumped on them and one that the Germans would be searching for to boot? This hadn't been the plan. When George had left the Moreau's cottage earlier that day it hadn't been with the intention of returning at all let alone late at night with a man who had suffered a serious gunshot wound and lost a lot of blood.

"This man needs a hospital." Monsieur Moreau waved his hands in the air in a gesture of desperation.

"I'm sorry," George said quietly realising all the more in what an impossible situation the Moreau's had been placed. "We can't go to a hospital. Is there a doctor here who might help?"

Monsieur Moreau's eyebrows shot up to his hairline at this suggestion, "Who do you think would risk their neck to help?"

George took a deep breath, "You did."

He was silenced for a moment. It was true that, despite misgivings, he had allowed George to hide in his house for a week although it had been more at his wife's pleading than for reasons of his own. However, one person hidden away out of sight was a very different prospect to a wounded man being deposited upon them without warning and one who would need medical help or he might very well die.

Madame Moreau stepped forward. "André, imagine if this was Michel. Wouldn't you have wanted someone to help him?"

George glanced at Monsieur Moreau. She knew that his wife was talking about their son, the one who had been killed during the German invasion in the spring of 1940. She had seen the photograph edged in black ribbon on the dresser, the portrait of a young man in the uniform of the French army. This was their motivation for helping the resistance and George knew it was an emotional appeal to her husband's patriotism. Monsieur Moreau's head dropped and he took a few deep breaths. To involve a doctor would be a great risk but turning his head to look at Emile lying on the bed in the bedroom which had once been his son's, his face deathly pale, his eyes closed and the dark stain of blood on his jacket a stark reminder of what he had done for France, he couldn't help thinking that this man looked a little like his son. They would have been about the same age and his wife was right. How he wished that someone could have helped Michel. He might still be here with them if someone had helped him.

"Alright. I'll try Doctor Lambert in Rommereux. I've heard it said that he's been known to criticise the Germans from time to time. He might be sympathetic but it will have to wait until morning. I can't go out during curfew."

George glanced at the clock. It was already after one in the morning. With luck Monsieur Moreau would be away by dawn to fetch the doctor.

"Thank you." It was heartfelt not only for his promise to find a doctor but also the fact that the Moreau's had taken them in when Bernard had brought them here at George's suggestion. Having a badly wounded man with them had posed many difficulties not least of which was the fact that they couldn't go to a hospital.

The explosion at the armaments factory had been heard for miles around and if Sebastian had done his work well the Germans would be hell-bent on finding the culprits. They would also be sure to know that one of them had been injured and in any case anyone presenting at a hospital with a gunshot wound would be reported to the Germans as a matter of course. They had no choice but to find somewhere out of the way and George had suggested the Moreau's.

Madame Moreau, relieved by her husband's agreement, all at once became practical and motherly.

"Let's clean up the wound and get him out of these clothes. Thankfully, the bleeding has stopped but we should try to dress the wound as best we can for now."

She set about boiling water and finding bandages whilst George and Monsieur Moreau did their best to remove Emile's jacket and shirt. As they raised him from the bed his eyes flew open from the pain but the relief of seeing George was evident although he didn't speak. Once they had removed his shirt they could see that the bullet had entered his shoulder just below his right collar bone but there was no exit wound.

"The bullet will have to come out," George said, realising now that it was going to be worse than just a case of dressing a bad wound. If they didn't remove the bullet the situation would only become more serious. Monsieur Moreau nodded but passed no comment.

Once Madame Moreau had cleaned up the wound and placed a clean dressing over it there was nothing more any of them could do until daybreak. The Moreau's retired to their own room to spend what remained of the night in fitful sleep whilst George sat on a chair by Emile's bedside, passing him some water to drink from time to time but trying to make him as comfortable as possible whilst he dozed in and out of consciousness.

George must have fallen asleep at some point, her head lulling at an awkward angle as she awoke with a start and the awareness of a sharp pain in her neck when the bedroom door opened and Monsieur Moreau appeared. It was light outside and he was dressed to go out.

"Just checking," he said needlessly and George wondered if he had thought Emile might have died but she quickly brushed the thought aside. She had suffered agonies in those few seconds last night in which she had believed Emile dead. The certainty with which Bernard had spoken had momentarily floored her but if the sight of Emile raising his head to show her he was still alive had done anything it was to convince her never to give up hope. Nothing would have stopped her from going back for him at that point. She had barely noticed the bullets flying around with her focus so squarely on him and getting him out of there. He didn't look good but he was here, he was breathing and she had hope.

It was a long wait until Monsieur Moreau returned from Rommereux and when he did so it was without the doctor. George had spent the time with Emile, who had been fitful and clearly in pain. It was nearly twelve hours since the assault on the armaments factory and he needed medical attention as soon as possible. Madame Moreau had been on tenterhooks. Despite her assertions that they should help the young man, she was fully aware of how dangerous the situation was and knew she had sent her husband out on a precarious mission. When he returned alone they were both relieved to see him but George was also fearful that he had failed in his purpose.

"Don't worry; the doctor will come here at the end of his rounds this afternoon."

"What did you tell him?" Madame Moreau asked nervous but still curious as to how much her husband had told the doctor to secure his help.

"That I have a nephew staying who has had an accident and hurt his shoulder."

"Just that?" George asked.

Monsieur Moreau shrugged, "He told me to take him to the hospital but I said it wouldn't be possible as he didn't like hospitals."

"And he wasn't suspicious?" Madame Moreau said with no attempt to hide her incredulity.

"Oh, I think he was suspicious or at least he seemed to understand what I meant as he said 'I can sympathise with you on that as I'm not very fond of them either at least not these days.'"

"So you think he will help?" George wasn't convinced by what she had heard. For all they knew the doctor might inform the Germans and it wouldn't be him turning up later that afternoon but the Gestapo to arrest them all. She suddenly appreciated the enormous risk Monsieur Moreau had taken and felt guilty for having involved them, even more so when he reached out to pat her on the arm as if to reassure her, "We must trust that he will."

The two hours that followed were some of the most nerve wracking of George's life. She knew that she might simply be waiting to be arrested but there was nothing she could do. Emile couldn't move and she couldn't and wouldn't run away but she was determined that if the worst happened she wouldn't give up without a fight. From the bedroom window of the Moreau's cottage she had a good view of the road and the gravel track that led down the hill towards it. She set herself up at the window to watch with her loaded rifle at her side. If the Germans arrived she would make sure they didn't take her easily.

Time dragged by and George found herself endlessly scanning the road almost wishing something would happen as it would be better than the tension of waiting. She was so intent on her purpose that she was startled by sudden movement in the bed and glancing to her left she saw Emile trying to get up. She swiftly moved over to him and knelt by the bed.

"Shh, calm down, Emile, and lie back down."

He looked confused by his surroundings. It was hardly surprising as he had been barely conscious for most of the past twelve hours but he did as she asked.

"Where am I?"

George smiled. "With friends. A doctor's coming to sort out your shoulder. It's all going to be alright."

A weak smile played on his lips and even in his present poor state George realised that he didn't entirely believe her. "Not trying to keep my spirits up are you, George?" He spoke in a whisper and it frightened her to see him such a shadow of the man she had known all these weeks here in France.

"No need. It's true. He'll be here soon. Trust me."

He nodded, "More than myself."

He drifted off again and was lost to her and she reached out to stroke his face. He didn't respond but she continued to do so until she heard the sound of a car engine in the distance, the first vehicle to approach in the past hour.

She moved rapidly to the window and saw the small black Citroen turning off the main road onto the track, heading towards the cottage. The Gestapo sometimes used cars like these. She had seen the security services moving around using these inconspicuous cars. She concentrated on the car trying to see how many occupants there might be. Her hand reached towards the rifle. If two men got out she would know immediately if they were Germans. She looked back to the road behind and the surrounding countryside trying to see if anyone else was around but she spotted nothing out of the ordinary. Her heart was in her mouth as the car drew up outside. The driver's door opened and a single, tall, middle-aged man with a balding head and a slight stoop got out and then to her relief opened the rear door and reached in to take out a large black medical bag.

Monsieur Moreau has opened the front door by now and George saw him walk towards the car and greet the doctor with a handshake confirming it was the man he had met this morning. She put down the rifle and took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. All that remained now was to ensure that Emile was cared for and that they were right about the doctor and he would be sympathetic to their predicament. At the last moment she realised that it might be wise to hide the rifle and hastily stashed it under the bed out of sight just as the bedroom door swung open to reveal Monsieur Moreau and Doctor Lambert.

The doctor was evidently surprised to see George but Monsieur Moreau introduced her as "My niece, Marie-Claire." The doctor looked her up and down and she knew at once that he didn't believe any of the story he had been told but had obviously decided to help nonetheless and keeping up the pretence he turned to Emile lying in the bed, looking almost as pale as the sheets and said, "And this must be your brother?"

George nodded, "Thank you for coming here to see him."

The doctor approached the bed and bent down to look at Emile, noting the dressing on his shoulder.

"What sort of accident was it, Mademoiselle?"

George glanced nervously at Monsieur Moreau but he merely shrugged in response. She knew there was no point in denying what was wrong with Emile but she didn't need to tell the doctor everything, "His rifle misfired when he was out shooting pigeons in the wood and he caught a bullet in the shoulder."

The doctor gave her a long searching look but merely replied, "Yes, I can see that."

He took out his stethoscope and listened to Emile's heart before checking his pulse and his pupils. Emile stirred as the doctor lifted each eyelid and George realised he was regaining consciousness. She immediately spoke to him.

"Phillipe, the doctor's here. Don't speak. Try to save your energy."

It was enough to silence Emile. The doctor stood up and regarded George and Monsieur Moreau.

"I'll do what I can but I'm not a surgeon and that's what he needs."

"We appreciate whatever you can do," George said.

"Well, I'll also need your help, Mademoiselle, if that's alright."

George nodded. "Of course."

"Is there somewhere I can wash up?" the doctor asked.

Monsieur Moreau accompanied him downstairs where his wife had boiled some water in readiness and as he left the room, George shut her eyes in a moment of relief. Everything had worked out after all.

There was a noise from the bed and she turned to see Emile looking directly at her. She crossed to him and to her surprise he reached for her hand and grasped it, squeezing it tightly to get her attention. His voice was hoarse, little more than a whisper and she could hear that he was fighting the pain, "You have to go while you still can. It's not safe to stay here for long."

She shook her head, "I'm not going without you."

"You've still got a chance, George. You have to leave."

His voice was fading fast and George could tell he was slipping into unconsciousness again. Seeing his eyes closing, she bent her head and placed her lips close to his ear, "You didn't leave me and I won't leave you. I'm getting you out of here, whatever it takes." She didn't know whether he had heard her. He had fallen silent, his face drained of colour and his breathing shallow.

Doctor Lambert came back into the room. His sleeves were rolled up and he had put on an apron to protect his trousers and shirt. He started to lay out sterile instruments on a cloth and the expression on his face was grim. George felt anxious.

"Will he be alright, doctor?"

The doctor shrugged, "Are you religious, Mademoiselle?"

George shook her head, unnerved by the inference.

"Well, if you were I'd tell you to start praying."

She was definitely alarmed now. "Is it that bad? I thought it was just his shoulder."

The doctor sighed, "He's young and strong and has as good a chance as anyone but you'd better start praying that he recovers before the Germans find him because from what I've heard they won't leave any stone unturned to find the 'terrorists' responsible for blowing up the factory and the train from Granville."

X-X-X-X

The colour had returned to Emile's face and he was breathing easily in his sleep. In the twenty four hours since Doctor Lambert had operated to remove the bullet from his shoulder he had improved a great deal. He had been given something to take for the pain but supplies were low and Emile was determined not to use the tablets unless he was desperate. She had stayed here by his side, keeping an eye on him, making sure he drank water when he was awake and cajoling him into eating some soup at lunchtime the first food he had eaten in a few days. It wasn't much but it was vital that he recovered his strength as soon as possible.

George had assisted the doctor as he had directed and although she hadn't enjoyed watching him go about his work she had coped. The doctor had returned that evening to check on Emile and had been satisfied with his progress but said that he needed to rest up for at least a week before thinking of leaving. This was unwelcome news to all of them, the Moreau's included, but the doctor had been adamant that he wouldn't be fit or pain-free enough to move around easily before then. He had then left them, refusing any payment and saying that as far as he was concerned he had never met any of them or visited the smallholding before and would deny all knowledge if ever asked.

George was grateful beyond measure to him. The doctor had put himself at considerable risk by agreeing to visit Emile. It could have been a trap for all he had known but he had not been prepared to leave someone who needed his help and Emile now stood a real chance of recovering his health before long. However, the doctor's news about the effect of their operation had made her realise that someone like Emile would be a prized target for the Germans and they would be determined to catch any of those involved. Her instincts were telling her that they needed to get away from here as soon as they could but Emile was still weak. The Moreau's hadn't made any comment about the doctor's prognosis but she knew it must be weighing heavily upon them just as the guilt of the danger in which she had placed them weighed upon her.

The sound of a van approaching drew George's attention and she crept to the window. She recognised the van at once and as it drew near she also recognised the driver. It was Jacques. She was surprised that he had come here so openly in broad daylight and that he was parking up outside the front door in full view of the road. She saw him get out rapidly and then heard the bang of his fist on the front door. There was something urgent about the way he knocked that alarmed her.

She left the room and hurried downstairs just as Madame Moreau opened the door.

"Excuse me, Madame," he gazed beyond her to where George was standing. "I need to speak with Madeleine at once."

George was very alarmed now. She gestured to Jacques to follow her and they went upstairs to the bedroom. Emile stirred as they both entered the room and blinked at the sight of his comrade. He was a little groggy from sleep but otherwise in full command of himself.

"Jacques, it's good to see you, my friend. You did very well, I hear."

Jacques nodded, "Yes, it worked like a dream but we've got a problem. Bernard was arrested this morning."

George was shocked, "How? Was he caught at a checkpoint or something?"

Jacques shook his head, "No. He was arrested at home. Someone's informed on him."

It was the worst news. Not only was one of their key commanders now in German hands but someone had deliberately betrayed him.

"The whole circuit is at risk. Bernard knows a lot of people."

George felt the cold hand of fear grasp at her heart. They were all in grave danger.

Jacques was insistent, "Both of you have got to go now. Bernard has been here. When he talks they'll get you and he _will_ talk eventually, make no mistake."

They all knew it was true that everyone would eventually talk under enough rough persuasion. Bernard would try to hold out for twenty-four hours. That was the agreement. Each of them knew that if arrested by the Germans they must try to give their comrades long enough to get away but after that who could blame anyone for talking in such circumstances. George looked at Emile wondering how on earth they were going to make their escape.

"He's not strong enough to leave. The doctor said he should rest for a week."

Jacques shook his head, "Perhaps you don't understand, Madeleine. You may not have more than a few hours. I'll take you as far as I can but you can't stay here. All of you have to get out now. You've no other choice."

George was shocked by what she had heard. She was determined to stay with Emile, nothing would persuade her to leave the man she loved but it was going to be very difficult. It was risky travelling on covert business even at normal times but now, in the aftermath of the operation, with the Germans actively looking for anyone involved, getting away was going to be nothing short of a miracle.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Happy New Year to you all!_**

 ** _Apologies for the delay in updating over Christmas but this is quite a long chapter which will hopefully make up for it. Thank you, as ever, for reading and reviewing. It's much appreciated._**

 **Chapter Eleven**

"Two tickets for Berneville, please."

George cast no more than a cursory glance in the direction of the man behind the glass of the ticket booth at the station. There was no need to smile, say or do anything that might draw his attention any more than she already had. In any case, the stolid, pasty-faced young man looked bored. Little of interest happened at a small branch line station and she was sure from the way he looked down at the desk, avoiding her gaze, that he saw nothing interesting about the rather plain, bespectacled woman who had just entered the waiting room. She was, however, certain that he had seen her settling down on a bench what he probably took to be some sort of idiot relative and heard her telling the young man in a slow patronising voice more suited to addressing a toddler and which carried to all those around , "Sit here and be quiet. I'll be back in a moment."

George looked around and saw that Emile was indeed still sitting at the end of the bench, slumped over a little to one side and, as they had agreed, was avoiding the gaze of anyone else in the waiting room. His pallor, the ungainly manner in which he had shuffled in on her arm, due as much to his weakness and being in pain as a pretence at a disability, combined with an ill-fitting ensemble of clothes, added to the impression that he had recently left an institution somewhere and, if anyone asked, it was exactly the story that George and Emile had agreed upon.

There had been very little time to concoct any story after Jacques had arrived at the Moreau's to tell them the shocking news that Bernard had been arrested and that there was evidently an informer in their midst. Jacques' words had hit home and the dangerous reality of the situation had dawned on George at once. As she turned to look at Emile lying on the bed in bedroom of the Moreau's dead son, she could tell that he also knew the score. He was already pushing back the bed covers and starting to swing his legs out of bed and George rushed to help him.

"I'll manage, Madeleine."

Even so he spoke through gritted teeth and she could tell he was in pain. He was also weak from blood loss and lack of food. Standing upright was more difficult than he had imagined and he staggered a little but George reached out to steady him.

" _We'll_ manage, Phillipe." She looked up and saw him smiling down at her.

"Yes, alright. _We_ will."

With the help of Madame Moreau they found new clothes for Emile. Emile was a little taller than Michel Moreau had been but Madame Moreau seemed glad to pass the clothes on to him and Emile had no choice but to accept them even though when dressed he looked slightly odd.

"Pass me my jacket will you, Madeleine," he asked gesturing to the blood stained jacket in which he had arrived which was still lying on the floor near the bed.

"You can't wear that." George was genuinely shocked by the idea that he would don a coat bearing all the evidence of his activities.

Emile shook his head, "I need my papers from the inside pocket."

As he reached into the pocket to extract his identity papers George realised with a sinking heart that she was in trouble. She had no papers. The false set she had been carrying when arrested were with the Abwehr. She wouldn't get very far without identity papers.

"What am _I_ going to do?"

Emile caught her expression and remembered that they hadn't arranged any more papers. Once she had completed the operation it had always been intended that she lay low until London were able to provide her with a seat on a Lysander back to England. However, to the immense relief of both of them, Jacques opened his jacket and took out the set of papers she had used before her arrest.

"I collected these from the sisters in Varennes. They didn't ask where you were and I didn't tell them anything but you can at least be Marie Bouchard again. The photograph's not ideal given the way you look now but it's the best I can do."

George took the papers from him hoping they would suffice and then another thought occurred to her, "What about Louis and Sebastian?"

"Louis sent a message to London to inform them the circuit's been blown and it's shutting down then he was under strict instructions to get the hell out to another area. That's all you need to know and Sebastian's making his own way. We've tried to spread the word to as many people as we can but we don't know who the traitor is, so it's really every man or woman for themselves."

George smiled at Jacques, "But _you_ came here."

She reached out and hugged him. He had been a tower of strength to everyone and she would never forget him. He had known there was no other way of getting the message to them and he'd risked driving here rather than making his own escape. "I can't thank you enough for all you've done, Jacques."

The older man wasn't given to shows of affection and looked slightly abashed as he somewhat gruffly replied, "Just get away. Get back to England. That will be thanks enough."

By the time Emile had dressed he already seemed tired and George knew they were desperately short of solutions. "We'll have to use the train, Emile. You can't walk far, we haven't got transport and we've got to get as far away as quickly as we can."

Emile clearly didn't like the idea but George insisted, "We've got to risk it. We'll stay off the main lines and try to bypass any of the big towns."

Emile was still reluctant but he nodded, "Alright, just for now but we shouldn't travel together, you know that."

George held his gaze, "Yes, in ordinary circumstances but these aren't ordinary. We just need a story." She looked him up and down thinking once again how odd he looked and the germ of an idea came to her. "You said you thought _I_ looked different, well, to be honest, you don't exactly look yourself right now."

"Thanks very much!" He might be a weakened version of the man she knew but his sense of humour was still fully intact.

"You know what I mean."

If circumstances had been different George might have laughed outright at his appearance. His trousers were too short by an inch or two and his shirt and jacket were tight across the shoulders. "We'll just have to work with what we've got. You're not very mobile at the moment so why don't we use the story that you're not quite," she paused searching for the right words and shrugging her shoulders said with a grimace, " _all there_ , if you know what I mean. I could be taking you to stay with relatives in the south because you need a change of scene and somewhere quiet. We could say that you've been affected by bombing raids in the north and some family in the country are taking you in."

"And who are you?" Emile asked.

"A cousin?"

She could tell that Emile didn't like this story and she didn't blame him. It wouldn't stand up to much scrutiny but it was the best she could manage without notice, "You just need to be quiet and withdrawn. Don't say anything if you can help it and let me do the talking at least for the first few days until you're feeling better and then we can come up with a different story if necessary."

Jacques looked at Emile, "It makes sense, Phillipe. People may remember you but hopefully they won't connect you with the ones the Germans are looking for."

Emile looked across the room at George and despite his weariness and concern about the situation in which they now found themselves, he couldn't help but admire the way in which she was taking charge. He knew that he needed to rely on her if he was to have any chance of escaping. Alone, he wouldn't get far and although it was risky she was right that they had to move south as quickly as possible and he needed a cover story to explain his infirmity. He also recognised how much more dangerous the situation would be for her in his company. It was foolish and against every principle that had been instilled in them by their training to stay together but he knew it was a decision taken from the heart and nothing would dissuade her from carrying it through.

"Looks like you're the boss, then, Madeleine."

Within an hour of Jacques arrival at the Moreau's cottage everyone had departed. Monsieur Moreau had called in to his near neighbour half a kilometre away and asked if their young son could call in each day to feed the goats and hens for a while as he and his wife had been summoned at short notice to the bedside of her gravely ill sister in Paris. The fact that his wife had no sister and no relatives of any kind in Paris was immaterial. Monsieur Moreau knew that if questioned by the Germans the story would be innocently retold whilst he and his wife would be far away staying with a distant cousin in Clermont-Ferrand. The Moreaus headed for the local station and ensured that they were observed by the station master buying tickets to Paris even though they intended to change lines several stations further up the line whilst Jacques drove Emile and George twenty kilometres south to a small station. Jacques parked up a short distance from the station and they said a final farewell. In all the rush no one had stopped to ask Jacques his plans and George was concerned.

"What will you do, Jacques?"

He shrugged, "Keep out of the way. I know a few people who will help but you don't need to know any more than that. I can take care of myself."

"We know that." Emile reached out his good left hand to Jacques and the older man took it. "Good luck, Jacques."

As they stood at the roadside watching the van disappear from sight, Emile turned to George, "It looks like I'm in your capable hands now, George."

She felt the sudden weight of responsibility. He meant what he was saying. For a while at least he would be reliant on her and it must worry him just as much as it did her. She glanced up at him feeling the first fluttering of nerves and then to her relief caught sight of the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress a grin, "Just be gentle with me. There's only so much excitement a man can take."

Now, having successfully purchased the tickets for Berneville George continued the pretence that had begun the moment they had shuffled into sight of the station. Emile had taken her arm and leaned on her. His steps were a little uneven and he was careful to avert his gaze from anything direct or anyone he encountered, appearing to be concerned about the presence of others and nervous of the new surroundings.

"Come on, Claude, let's go outside and wait on the platform. We can wait for the train to arrive. That will be better won't it?"

George maintained the patronising and cajoling tone that she deemed appropriate in the circumstances and reached for his arm whilst Emile continued to play the young man afflicted by a nervous complaint and showed reluctance to move so that George was forced to pull him up by his left arm. In truth she knew that Emile needed some help to get up from the bench, being stiff and in pain, and it served the purposes well, "Come on, Claude. Be good, please."

She caught just the flicker of a glance from Emile that betrayed some irritation at her manner but she ignored it and after he had got to his feet they walked slowly onto the platform and found a bench as far away as they could from the main entrance to wait for the train to arrive.

"It won't be here for another twenty minutes," George whispered, "Just carry on looking anxious."

She didn't need to see Emile's face to know he was being sarcastic as he replied, "That won't be difficult."

X-X-X-X

Weber's patience was wearing thin. As he replaced the coffee cup on its saucer without his usual precise care it rattled and he reached out to steady it before delicately replacing the silver spoon alongside it, this time without making a sound. He liked small things to be just so and it irritated him that he was getting nowhere with this man and his impatience was manifesting itself in something as simple as the way he drank from his coffee cup.

Twelve hours had passed since his officers had arrested Patrice Dufour, otherwise known by his codename of Bernard. The anonymous informer had been right on this occasion and the 'terrorist' had been apprehended eating his breakfast at his own kitchen table before heading out to work. Evidently, there had been some sort of struggle when the arrest had taken place as the man sitting on the other side of the desk from Weber was sporting the beginnings of a black eye.

Weber wasn't an advocate of physical interrogation. As an educated man he much preferred to use his intelligence to outwit his captives. It was the game of cat and mouse he enjoyed and, in any case, he strongly suspected that a tough man like Bernard would not only anticipate a severe beating but give very little away in the process. To Weber's mind the surest way to succeed was to wrong-foot him and he was pretty sure that Bernard would already be surprised by not receiving the treatment he had expected on his arrest and this could work in his favour.

Weber leaned back in his chair and smiled at Bernard. "Perhaps it might surprise you to know that not only do I appreciate that there's an understanding or would it be too strong to call it a 'code of conduct' amongst comrades to give nothing away but I can actually respect that." He paused and let this information sink in for a few moments, "It's all well and good to be true to your comrades but it assumes that at some point you're going to be thanked for your actions and it's going to be worth enduring all manner of inconvenience, discomfort and well, let's be honest, even pain, for them because they'll be grateful."

He rose from his chair and walked to the window. Standing with his back to the room he watched the movements in the yard below. A prisoner they had arrested three days ago was being dragged across the cobblestones towards a van. His interrogation was over and he was being transferred to the main prison. Weber didn't enjoy the sight of the broken man and he hadn't been in charge of his brutal interrogation but it might serve a purpose at this moment.

"Come here," he waved a hand to Bernard in a nonchalant fashion. Bernard didn't move and the Corporal in the room stepped forward and grabbed him by the arms, pulling him roughly to his feet and shoving him in the back towards Weber. Reluctantly, Bernard crossed to the window. Weber pointed down below.

"Do you see that man there in the yard?"

Bernard said nothing but Weber knew he was looking at him and probably wondering if he recognised him.

"I'm sure he thought everyone was going to thank him for being so brave. He's wrong, of course. Everyone else is long gone and he's half the man he was, if that. I doubt he'll ever see any of his comrades again. He's told us everything he knows and as it turned out it was all pretty pointless as we already knew most of what he had to say. His brave sacrifice was just a pointless waste of time and for what?" Weber shrugged, "To satisfy a code of honour?"

He gestured to the Corporal who grabbed Bernard and pushed him back to the chair.

"You'd be surprised how much we already know about your circuit so there's really little point in staying silent. In fact, I could make this easier for you if you like. Why don't I tell you what _we_ know? You don't need to say anything, just nod, if you prefer."

Bernard sat in silence, maintaining as impassive an expression as possible while Weber began to reel off names, codenames and details about the Maverick circuit that could only have come from an insider, someone who had lived, worked and fought alongside them. He silently seethed with indignation at the betrayal of a comrade but was loathe to let this man know that it bothered him.

Weber paused for breath and turned to look at his prisoner with something resembling a smile.

"You see, Bernard," he used the man's name for the first time very deliberately and pretended to hesitate as he watched his face, "that is your code name isn't it?" Bernard said nothing but Weber could tell from the look in his eyes that he was right and this was the definitely the man known by such a name. "There's no need for you to worry about betraying your comrades. There's nothing to betray." He opened his desk drawer and removed a buff-coloured foolscap folder. He laid it on the desk and opened it. Bernard could see that the file contained photographs. Weber picked up a few and pretended to look at them before lightly tossing them across the desk in Bernard's direction. They skimmed across the polished surface and Bernard's eyes were naturally drawn to them. There were some faces he recognised amongst them, some recent resistance members who had been arrested, others people he had met in passing whose names he didn't know. Weber continued to throw photographs across the desk. One shot across so quickly that if fell to the floor the other side landing close to Bernard's feet.

"Would you mind picking that up?" Weber said very politely indicating the photograph that had fallen. With great reluctance, Bernard leaned forward and stooped to pick up the photograph. With a shock he saw at once that it was Madeleine. It was a photograph that had been taken for a false set of identity papers probably the ones she had been carrying when first arrested. He placed the photograph on the desk with the others but Weber immediately reached forward to pick it up with a look of consternation on his face.

"What's that doing in this file, Schultz?"

He held the photograph up to show to the Corporal.

"I'm sorry, Sir. It must have become mixed up with the 'terrorists' somehow."

"Put it back where it belongs." He handed the photograph to his Corporal who turned to a filing cabinet in the room and proceeded to search for a file. Weber turned his attention back to Bernard. He gestured to the photographs on the desk.

"We know about all these people. Our information is very good."

He looked up sharply, "What are you doing Shultz? Which file have you got there?" He waved his hand at the man in a gesture of impatience indicating he should pass him the file he was holding to check it. Shultz brought him the file and Weber laid it on the desk. It was clearly labelled on the front and he had no doubt that Bernard could read it. He opened it and checked inside before handing it back.

"That's the one. Very well. File it in there."

When Shultz had finished Weber turned his attention back to Bernard. "Perhaps it's time we tried a different approach to this interview, Bernard, but first things first. I have a dinner appointment with a very attractive young lady who doesn't like to be kept waiting and you would probably appreciate some time to think things over. We'll talk later." He raised a hand and Shultz grabbed Bernard by the arm, pulled him to his feet and pushed him in the direction of the office door.

Weber settled back in his chair and watched the departing Bernard as he shuffled out of his office. It had been a largely silent hour with Bernard unwilling to offer more than a few cursory details such as his name, address and occupation plus a few other basic and insignificant details combined with a heavy reliance on denying everything. However, Weber had planted the seeds of doubt in Bernard's mind, he was sure of it. He had watched his face closely when Bernard had picked up the photograph of the woman known as Louise Aubert from the floor. Weber was a great studier of faces and Bernard's expression had betrayed the fact to him that he recognised the woman and it confirmed his belief that she was a key part of the Maverick circuit. She had been rescued en-route to Abwehr headquarters at great risk and from the descriptions given by his officers it was likely that Bernard had been one of the ambush party. If Weber had done his job well enough Bernard would not only be very uncertain about the direction his future questioning was likely to take but also highly suspicious of Louise Aubert, perhaps suspicious enough to betray revealing details about her. He had instructed Shultz on what he wanted him to do when he gave the signal and before the interview had begun had made sure that the file into which the photograph would be placed had been clearly labelled on the front in both French and German. Everything had worked as planned and Bernard could not have failed to notice that as far as Weber was concerned the woman in the photograph was an informer.

X-X-X-X

The journey south on the overcrowded local train had been slow and frequently interrupted by unexplained halts. On one occasion the train had been stationary on the line for half an hour and even the seasoned local travellers became a little restless.

When they had boarded the train it had been less crowded but as it had become progressively more delayed they had picked up ever increasing numbers of passengers who had also been delayed. Normally, George would have been at pains to sit at the opposite end of the carriage to any travelling companion to avoid being seen together, however, given their cover story on this occasion it was essential that George sat with Emile and maintained the pretence that she was taking responsibility for her relative. Emile, to his credit, had continued to play his part well; avoiding eye contact with anyone, occasionally mumbling a little to himself and allowing George to utter soothing expressions in a calm and patronising manner even though she suspected it irked him. However, she had also noticed that he had grown paler as the journey progressed and suspected that he was beginning to feel very tired, not that he would be prepared to admit it. She had hoped that they would make better progress and had intended to leave the train at Lanches where she knew of a contact who might be able to put them up overnight until they could continue their journey. However, they were still at least twenty five kilometres from their planned destination and the halting progress had continued all afternoon and it was now early evening although still light

After a long wait outside the town of Grimont the train was finally drawing into the station. George looked out the window as the platform came into view and to her horror saw that it was filled with German soldiers, lined up from one end to the other, clearly waiting to board the train when it arrived. Some of the other passengers had also noticed and were starting to whisper amongst themselves. At that moment a train guard passed through the carriage and was stopped by an amply bosomed lady in a tight-fitting dress who addressed him in a voice of authority that suggested she was accustomed to being listened to.

"What's happening? Surely, all those soldiers aren't expecting to board this train. It's already very full."

The guard looked tired, somewhat harassed but also resigned to the way everything operated these days and with nothing more than a shrug informed her, "Oh, they'll definitely be boarding, Madame, and you will definitely be disembarking. They're commandeering the train."

The woman looked very annoyed, "When will the next train be along?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." He turned away before she could vent any more of her personal annoyance upon his person. Instead she turned her attention to George.

"Well, service certainly isn't what it used to be, Mademoiselle. I've a good mind to report that guard for rudeness."

George didn't want to get involved but she couldn't help responding, "It's not his fault, Madame. I suppose we all have no choice."

The woman hitched her bosom up another notch, "I suppose so, Mademoiselle, but I have no desire to spend any longer in Grimont than absolutely necessary." She sighed loudly as if to emphasise her point and George couldn't help silently agreeing with her. She had no desire to be marooned in Grimont especially as it was growing late.

The train came to a halt at the station accompanied by the sound of doors being opened, bangs on the side of the carriage and shouts of "Everybody off the train."

George stood up and reached out to grasp Emile by the left arm, "Come on, Claude. It's time to get out now."

Emile pretended to look uneasy and confused at the disruption and George spoke more firmly, "Up you get, Claude."

He shuffled to his feet and as no one was near, George leaned in close to him pretending to straighten out his shirt collar, "We need to get away from the station, it's too busy here. Just stay close to me." Emile said nothing in reply but she felt his hand grasp her arm and his fingers tighten around it to acknowledge he understood.

George took Emile by the arm and guided him through the crowds leaving the train. They stepped down onto the platform with some difficulty amongst the milling passengers and soldiers standing four deep and George set out to weave a path from the train towards the exit. It was only when she had passed through the soldiers that she saw that everyone was being funnelled towards a checkpoint being manned by German police. She glanced around her hoping to see some other option but it looked very much as if all civilian passengers were being forced to leave the station. If it hadn't been for all the German soldiers scrambling onto the train she would have risked boarding it again and jumping down on the track side to avoid the checkpoint but there was nowhere to run.

"Wait," George whispered to Emile and pretended to bend down to tie her shoe whilst surreptitiously untying her hair, shaking it loose and removing her glasses before stuffing them in her coat pocket. She needed to resemble her photograph as much as possible and in the crush nobody seemed to notice what she was doing. When she stood up again she looked a little more like her normal self even though it was far from ideal to resemble the woman who had been arrested only ten days ago.

George and Emile were trapped in the queue heading for the checkpoint and there was no other way out of the station. They would never have disembarked here given the choice and George felt a knot of anxiety forming in her stomach. They had left the Moreau's house in great haste without much time to create a really strong cover story and knowing that there was every chance that the Gestapo and the Abwehr had descriptions of them by now. George knew that she must be on a list somewhere after her recent escape and every checkpoint like this was a risk. They had almost reached the front of the queue and once again George felt the grip of Emile's fingers on her arm, a squeeze for luck and then they were standing before the officer with Emile cowering and looking away.

George handed over both sets of papers and made a show of speaking slowly to Emile, "Just wait quietly, Claude."

The officer scrutinised both sets of papers and then looked up and fixed both George and Emile with a piercing stare. George's heart was thumping in her chest but she fought every instinct to turn tail and run. They had to brazen it out somehow.

"You," the officer was directing his attention towards Emile who was continuing to act as though he was disassociated with everyone and everything around him. It was time for George to step in.

"That's my cousin. He's not been well. He's been in a hospital, well more of an institution."

The officer frowned, "What's wrong with him?"

"A nervous complaint."

The officer paused to take in this information, "So your Cousin has been in an institution, Mademoiselle. Which one?"

George didn't hesitate "The Institute of Sainte Hêlêne in St Nazaire." It was entirely fictitious and wouldn't bear any checking but at least George knew that the docks at St Nazaire had been subjected to plenty of allied bombing raids so the next part of her story, if needed, would at least sound credible.

"And why are you travelling?"

"He needs a change of environment. It's been very bad for him because of those damned English bombing raids. Doctor Leroux was quite insistent that he needed somewhere quiet in the countryside."

The officer looked from her to Emile. Emile was averting his gaze and stooping with his right shoulder drooping downwards. George knew he was probably tired and his wound was hurting.

"Do you have his discharge papers from the institution?"

George shook her head, "No. Doctor Leroux sent them on to Doctor Rolland in Armancourt together with a letter explaining the situation and his recommendations for treatment."

The officer frowned, "These papers say that Claude Benoit is a factory worker."

"He _was_ a factory worker before he had a breakdown caused by an accident in which one of his colleagues was killed."

The officer was unmoved, "His papers should have been amended. Why weren't they changed?"

George hesitated for a moment, "It must have been overlooked by the hospital." She was clutching at straws but hoped she sounded convincing but now the officer looked suspicious. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she was vaguely aware of a twitching movement, then she heard a small groan. She turned her head to the left in time to see Emile twitch again, this time much more noticeably and he shook his head at the same time almost as if he had water in his ear that he was trying to remove so that he could hear. The officer had seen Emile moving as well and watched him with some curiosity.

"Claude?" George spoke quietly and reached out to touch Emile on the arm. No sooner had her fingers glanced the fabric of his jacket than he recoiled violently and twitched again accompanied by another louder groan. A woman standing behind them in the queue stepped back hurriedly in alarm and other people started to take notice and began to whispering to each other.

With a jolt of realisation, George recognised that Emile was faking an attack of nerves or panic or maybe both in order to cause a diversion but she wasted no time in taking advantage.

"Claude, calm down. Look at me. It's alright," she moved away from the officer and pretended to try to get Emile's attention. He carried on twitching and started lashing out with his good left arm, his groans growing ever louder as George also raised her voice.

"Calm down. You're safe. Claude, listen to me."

There was now a small circle of people around them and things were getting unruly. At least one or two people looked as though they were taking advantage of the situation to slip past the checkpoint. The officer looked around him and realised he was losing control of the situation. He stepped forward and grabbed Emile roughly by both arms. Emile yelled out making a convincing show of being out of control although George was sure it was a genuine cry of pain.

"Get out of here or I'll arrest you for causing a disturbance," he shouted at both of them and propelled Emile past the barrier and towards the exit with a rough shove which sent him sprawling. He threw their papers after him and George hurried past, crouching as she did so to gather the papers from the floor and before catching up with Emile. She bent down to take him by the left arm and help him to his feet, still keeping up the pretence.

"Come on, Claude. Everything's alright. Just lean on me."

They staggered through the ticket hall and emerged onto the street beyond. It was busier than some of the towns and villages they had travelled through before and one look convinced George that she wouldn't have disembarked from the train here if she'd had a choice but they were here now and they had managed to get away from the checkpoint due to Emile's quick thinking. He had been convincing and at the beginning of the episode even George had wondered if Emile was genuinely ill.

"You should have been an actor," she muttered in disbelief, "How did you manage to do that, Emile?"

"I saw it happen to a chap in the mess once," he whispered. "He'd been shot up and had to bail out in the sea. Never the same again."

He was clearly pleased with his acting ability but gasping with the effort and the officer had dealt with him quite roughly in order to get rid of them. There were beads of perspiration on his brow and as they staggered away from the station with George holding his left arm and trying to help him along his coat was flapping open. As it did so she caught sight of his shirt inside and was filled with concern.

"Emile, we've got to find somewhere out of the way to rest up for the night."

He turned his head to look at her, "We can't stay around here. It's too busy"

She shook her head, "We've got to. You're bleeding."

The news came as a shock to him. He glanced down in time to see the unmistakeable, creeping red stain of blood flowing from his right shoulder and spreading across his shirt. She was right. If they stayed in the street much longer they would be sure to be picked up.

"We can't go to a hotel. It's much too risky," Emile gasped.

George looked around her. This was a small provincial town and didn't offer the same protection of woods or remote barns that the countryside afforded. Rows of suburban town houses on leafy avenues stretched out ahead of them but at the end of the street George caught sight of what looked like a park.

"Come on; let's make for that park up there. I know it's difficult but let's try to look like a young couple out for a romantic stroll."

Even in his desperate, weakened state the irony of the situation wasn't lost on Emile and to George's astonishment he started to laugh.

"Ssh, Emile,"

"Sorry, George, but I don't think I've ever felt less young or romantic and don't get any ideas about taking advantage of me."

Even George couldn't resist a smile at that, "Don't worry. You're safe with me."

He chuckled, "That's what they all say."

It was getting late and the light was fading as they reached the park. The walk had taken longer than either of them had anticipated and all the way George had been worried that the blood that was seeping from the reopened wound on Emile's right shoulder would come through his jacket or start to drip noticeably onto his trousers. Thankfully, neither had happened and as they entered through the gates they only saw one other couple leaving.

"Do you think they lock the park at night?" George asked.

Emile had no idea but they didn't see anyone who looked like a park keeper as they strolled around. All the time George was scanning the area hoping not to see anyone else but also looking for anywhere suitable to hide. At last as they reached the far side she spotted what looked like a potting shed half hidden amongst the bushes.

"Over there,"

They checked carefully around them and after walking past, making a small detour and then returning they were sure no one else was around and crept into the bushes. The shed was locked but the padlock seemed fairly old and worn and George reckoned she could break it open.

"I just need something to prise it open with." She sat Emile down out of sight and scouted around the area as surreptitiously as she could until she found what looked like a half-rusted rasp that had been discarded nearby. She showed it to Emile.

"It might not be strong enough, but I'll try."

She placed the rasp between the padlock and the door and levered it with all her might. Emile looked on helplessly as her first attempt failed. However, she took a deep breath and tried again, pulling on the rasp with all her strength. The padlock creaked and then burst open with an unwelcome loud crack. She hastily scooped up the pieces from the ground and then pulled the door open. It was stiff, the hinges creaked and it didn't appear to have been opened in a long while. The dozens of cobwebs inside the shed confirmed this suspicion. There was nothing much inside apart from, some old flowerpots, a large watering can and a few outmoded, rusting tools. She stepped outside and reached out to help Emile to his feet before settling him inside.

"It's not a palace but it doesn't look like we'll be disturbed. I don't think it's been used for a long time."

Emile sat on the floor and propped himself against wall. The light outside was fading fast and George needed to check his wound before it was too dark. She helped Emile take off his jacket and then undid the blood-stained shirt and eased it down over his shoulder. She gently removed the bandages on his shoulder. He winced a few times but once it was exposed she could see that the violent manner in which the German officer had removed Emile from the station had broken some of the stitches on the wound causing it to bleed.

"I'll need to dress it again, Emile." She looked about her person, wondering what to use for bandages until it occurred to her there was only one option. She hitched up her skirt to reveal a cotton slip below. Even in his weakened state George saw Emile's eyebrows shoot up and he murmured, "I hope you're not going back on your promise."

George shook her head at him, "Shut up." She proceeded to remove the slip and started ripping it into strips before using them to hold a handkerchief against the wound. She bandaged as tightly as she dared and hoped that with a night's rest the bleeding would stop. Then she turned her attention to his bloodstained shirt knowing they really needed to do something about it.

"There's a tap outside. If it works, I'll try to clean your shirt."

The ancient tap rattled and shook a few times when she turned it on and then expelled a stream of brown water before, to her relief, finally starting to gush with something resembling cleaner water. She set to work trying to wash out the blood on the shirt. It wasn't easy in cold water without any soap but she succeeded in removing the worst of it and reckoned that when it dried it might just appear to be slightly stained. She stepped back into the shed with the shirt and finding a couple of nails on the wall stretched it out to dry.

"Hopefully, that will do the trick…"she turned to Emile but his eyes were closed, his head, resting against the shed wall, was tilted to one side and his dark hair had flopped over his forehead. He looked younger and, probably for the first time in his life George suspected, he looked vulnerable.

She pulled the door of the potting shed to and turned the handle to firmly close it behind her. It was very gloomy within now that the light had almost gone, the air was dusty and it smelled rather mouldy. She reached for Emile's jacket lying on the floor nearby and spread it over him before sinking to the floor to sit down next to him. She watched his chest rise and fall steadily and knew that he was deeply asleep. He didn't stir even when she reached her arm across him to hold him, glad of his physical proximity even though he was dead to the world. She yawned. She was also very tired but she knew that she musn't sleep. She had to keep watch. At this moment their lives were in her hands and she knew she would do whatever it took to keep them safe.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Thank you for you for reading and reviewing Chapter Eleven. Apologies for the delay in updating. It's been slow progress I'm afraid but here it is..._**

 **Chapter Twelve**

George was worried. She had been worried all day but had done her best to hide it from Emile. From the moment she had woken him in the morning she felt sure that something was wrong. He had been slow to come to his senses and didn't seem to be thinking straight. It was unusual for him and that worried her. In all the weeks George had known him out here in France she had been struck by his vitality, sense of purpose and the way in which he had been ever alert to danger and ready to act at a moment's notice. The tired and sluggish way in which he had behaved since waking this morning betrayed the fact that something was amiss.

George had done her best to keep watch last night but knew that she must have succumbed to sleep a few times as once or twice she had suddenly jerked awake, shocked by the fact that she had closed her eyes for a short period of time and fearful that something must have happened to alert her. Each time there had been nothing but the sound of the trees and bushes around the shed moving in the breeze and the steady rhythm of Emile's breathing in the darkness.

As the first grey light of dawn crept through the small dirty skylight in the roof over their heads, George began to rouse herself and tried to gather her thoughts for the day to come. As much as they needed to continue south, she had no intention of returning to the main station. The unceremonious way in which they had been ejected, coupled with the German Officer's suspicion, made her very wary of returning there. It would be better to find a bus and get away from here by another means of transport as soon as possible but they also needed to find something to eat and drink. She was parched and very hungry. It had been a long time since they had eaten and she knew they would have to risk buying some provisions.

As soon as it was light enough she checked her watch. It was almost six o'clock. The curfew would lift very soon and it would be a good idea to make a move before anyone came into the park. George reached across to gently shake Emile.

"Emile, wake up. We need to go soon."

He stirred a little but didn't open his eyes. She tried again and this time he groaned as he stretched out his legs and finally forced himself to look at her. He sounded groggy.

"Where are we?"

The question surprised George. "The shed in the park. Remember?"

"Vaguely," he frowned with the effort of recollection and reached his left hand up to rub the back of his neck, grimacing as he did so, "I don't think I'll be recommending it to anyone."

George smiled at him, "Well, you slept pretty well, so I don't know why you're complaining."

She expected a quip from him but for once none came. He moved and tried to pull himself up but couldn't hide the pain it caused him. George reached over to help and somehow he got to his feet. She looked at the wound on his shoulder and was relieved to see that it didn't appear to have bled during the night. She helped him put on his shirt which was still slightly damp but he wasn't bothered. She retrieved a comb from her pocket and handed it to him.

"What's that for?" he sounded slightly cross or perhaps muddled as if handing him a comb made no sense.

"Try to make yourself look presentable unless you want to give the impression you've been sleeping rough."

He took the comb from her and half-heartedly ran it through his hair. It made a small difference but he still looked a little rough and ready. She watched him wondering if it was just his shoulder that was giving him trouble or he was somehow annoyed with her, perhaps he didn't like the cover story they were using.

"Look Emile, we don't have to continue using the same story as yesterday if you don't want to."

There was a puzzled expression on his face, "Why are you saying that. It doesn't make any difference to me."

"Are you alright?"

He sighed heavily, "As alright as I can be. Let's just get out of here."

She didn't want to risk any argument. The whole situation was too finely poised and too much depended on them working together the way they had yesterday. She held out her hand.

"Come on then."

He frowned, "Is there a plan? Where are we heading, George?"

She took a deep breath, she'd been thinking about this on and off during her wakeful moments throughout the night and it seemed her that despite the many difficulties it would present they had only one option if they wanted to get back to England.

"To Spain."

Four hours later, sitting on the slow bus wending its way through the countryside in the direction of Poitiers, George began to wonder if she was crazy thinking they could realistically make their way as far as the Spanish border. There were Germans patrols at the border and they would need to find and pay a guide to navigate them across the Pyrenees and into Spain which, despite its neutrality, was not without its dangers. She knew that even if they managed to cross into Spain they would have to avoid arrest and try to reach the British Embassy in Madrid but it was a possible escape route and now that the Circuit was unviable they had to get away.

From the corner of her left eye George glanced at Emile sitting by the bus window. He was quiet and withdrawn. It was still part of the disguise and he'd maintained it even when they had risked going into a café near the market square to buy something resembling coffee and a sandwich this morning. Both the coffee and the sandwich had been fairly disgusting but George was so hungry that she had struggled to maintain the appearance of eating it under sufferance. To her surprise, however, Emile had drunk the coffee but left some of his bread, admitting that he wasn't hungry. She knew he was tired and weak but it wasn't like him to seem so apathetic. Even when they had found the place to board the bus it had been George taking all the security measures, insisting they cross the road and check the area out before watching the other passengers board. When she was as reasonably happy as she could be that the rest of the passengers were of little risk she had encouraged Emile in what was becoming a familiar and patronising voice to get on the bus and sit down quietly. They had travelled as far as the town of Conteville before changing to another bus heading in the direction of Poitiers. It was on this second journey that George had grown concerned about Emile. The paleness of his skin, his apparent drowsiness and the fact that he appeared to be sweating even though it wasn't a particularly warm day seemed odd to her. The bus was carrying only a few passengers, the majority having departed in the small town they had just left behind and only a couple of women had boarded at the last stop. She risked leaning over to speak to him, "Claude, are you feeling alright?"

He didn't reply to her and she tapped him gently on the leg, "Claude?"

Emile turned his head as if startled and she could see at once that he wasn't focussing on her and he clearly wasn't well. "I think we need to get off the bus soon." George wasn't sure if her words registered with him but she didn't know what else to do. Emile needed to rest somewhere. They would have no choice but to risk finding a hotel but it would be dangerous as they would be expected to show their papers and the security services might check on residents at any time. She had no idea how much further to the next town or village but sat on in nervous anticipation of the next place of any size they might reach.

As they drew into the outskirts of a small town, one that George judged was likely to have at least one hotel, she nudged Emile and said quietly, "Claude, we're going to be getting off here." She wasn't sure if he had heard but when the bus came to a halt in the town square she nudged him again and seeing her moving he followed her lead and struggled into the aisle holding up one of the women passengers behind him who was also about to depart from the bus. She gave Emile a long look and George hastily apologised, "Excuse us, Madame." The woman said nothing but she seemed curious and George, wanting to avoid notice caught Emile by the hand and hurried him as best she could off of the bus. Once on the pavement, she saw that they were in a small square but having no idea of which direction to walk, she pretended to fiddle about tying her shoelaces until the bus had moved off and the other passenger had walked away before turning to Emile and saying quietly, "We need to find somewhere out of the way for you to rest and then I'll see if I can scout around and find a hotel and a doctor."

Emile said nothing and his silence on both matters convinced her that she had been right to worry about him. A fit and healthy Emile would have argued against both suggestions seeing the danger of both but he barely registered her words. She took him by the hand, "Come on, let's find you somewhere to hide for a while."

X-X-X-X

The shiny brass plate on the wall outside the house declared it to be the residence of Doctor Girard. The opening hours were shown below. George had walked around for the last hour and a half after finding a disused warehouse in which she had left Emile whilst she had investigated the town looking for anywhere they might stay and having seen a couple of small hotels near the market square she had gone in search of a doctor. There was still an hour until the surgery closed and George was torn between the knowledge that she needed to get some help for Emile or any attempt to continue south would be destined to fail and the risk of involving someone unknown who might betray them. It would be just as obvious to Doctor Girard as it had been to Doctor Lambert that Emile's injury was a bullet wound and there were only a limited number of explanations to account for it. It was now obvious to her from his symptoms and behaviour that an infection had taken hold and it worried her that it might prove their undoing. To leave it untreated could be disastrous and possibly fatal but to approach a stranger could be just as dangerous. She took a deep breath and pushed the heavy door open.

The darkness inside the hall contrasted strongly with the bright sunshine outside. It was cool and very quiet apart from the loud ticking of an ornate wooden clock standing on a table next to the wall. A sign on a door standing slightly ajar to her right indicated that it was the waiting room. For the last time George ran through the story in her mind that she had hastily concocted on her way here. She was going to have to use her judgment and gut feeling and pray it served her as well today as it had in the past.

The door swung noiselessly open to reveal a dark-haired nurse in a white, freshly laundered uniform sitting behind a desk. George had the odd sensation of having seen the woman somewhere before but she couldn't place her. The nurse lifted her eyes to survey the new arrival and a small frown creased her brow as if she was puzzled by something.

"Good afternoon. May I help you?"

George took a step towards her about to launch into her story when from the corner of her eye she caught sight of someone else sitting in the waiting room and she hesitated. To her left, looking decidedly bored and slightly impatient sat a Hauptmann from the Wehrmacht and his eyes were definitely upon her as she entered but she forced herself to walk towards the desk, to smile at the nurse and keep her voice level and confident.

"Would it be possible to see Doctor Girard?"

"Are you one of the Doctor's existing patients?"

George lowered her voice a fraction, "No, I'm new to the area."

"I see." The nurse looked down at the appointments diary on her desk and leafed through a few pages. She bit her lip as if struggling with something difficult.

"The doctor has no appointments remaining today, Mademoiselle. is it urgent?"

George hesitated, "It is quite important. A small but troubling matter. Perhaps I could have a few words with him at the end of surgery? I could come back later if that's more convenient."

The nurse shook her head, "I'm sorry Doctor Girard has to leave promptly at the end of surgery. Could you come back tomorrow?"

This was not very promising and George honestly didn't know how ill Emile might be in the morning. It was obvious that the infection in his wound was causing a fever and she was fearful of what a delay might bring. If the German hadn't been present she might have risked giving a few more details but she was wary. Instead she tried another tack, "Does Doctor Girard make house calls?"

The nurse frowned, "Yes, of course, but only if you are too ill to attend the surgery. I don't think he would visit you at home Mademoiselle."

"No, of course not," George replied, "But it's for a relative of mine."

The nurse raised her eyebrows in surprise, "You should have said? What's their name?"

George felt as if she was digging herself further into a hole with each attempt to gain a few minutes to talk to the doctor alone.

"I don't think Doctor Girard would know my relative." The uncertainty must have shown in her face as the nurse looked about to ask another question and George decided to pre-empt any further enquiries. "Perhaps it would be better to leave it."

She was about to turn away when the nurse suddenly spoke up, "Why don't you telephone tomorrow morning. The doctor may be able to speak to you then. Let me give you our number." She reached for a piece of paper and started to write something. George was now desperate to leave the waiting room as soon as possible and worried that she may have attracted too much of the German officer's notice. He appeared to have been listening at the start of the conversation but was now gazing out the window to his left with a suitably vacant expression which she hoped meant he had lost interest in the exchange.

The nurse folded the paper and handed it to George, "Try that, Mademoiselle it may be more effective." George took the note and thanked the nurse before leaving the waiting room glad only of the fact that she was no longer under the scrutiny of the German officer. She was annoyed and disappointed at not having met with more success but she left the surgery and walked at a steady pace knowing that she needed to return to Emile in the disused warehouse in which he was hiding as soon as possible and decide what to do next.

As she reached the alleyway which led to the warehouse she checked around her and made sure there was no one in the street before slipping off of the main street and then passing through a wooden gate with a broken padlock which lead towards the warehouse. She opened the door and called softly into the darkness, "Emile, it's me." There was some movement in the far corner. He said nothing but as she drew near she saw that his eyes had flickered open.

She sat down alongside him and sighed heavily, "Not much luck. I'm afraid. Only this." She took the note out of her pocket and waved it forlornly. It slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground. She reached out to pick it up unfolding it as she did so. Having expected to see a telephone number written on the piece of paper she stared at in complete surprise. The light was dim but she could just make out the message that was written there; _Perhaps I can help you. Meet me at the Café Suisse in the Market Square in one hour._

X-X-X-X

The note from the nurse had concerned George a great deal but given the current very difficult position in which she and Emile found themselves she felt she had no choice but to risk going to the café even though she was worried. Emile had temporarily rallied enough to take in the information and he expressed his concerns, "It could be trap, George, you've got to be careful."

"I know. I'll get there early and keep out of sight and if I see anything that looks wrong or I even sense it's wrong, then I'll leave." She reached out to grasp Emile's hand. "I've got to try. You need help."

He couldn't argue with that, as even in his weakened and feverish state he knew he wouldn't get any further without some medical intervention but he still hated to see her taking such risks for him when he should have been able to fully play his part and take his share of the danger. He watched her leave with a heavy heart and fearful, as he had been every time she had ever left him, that he might not see her again.

George arrived at the market square at least fifteen minutes early and stayed out of sight in the porch of a church overlooking the square where she could observe the comings and goings for a while and get a feel for the place. The café was quiet with only a few people inside at the bar and a young couple sitting at a table outside who, from the way they were holding hands and whispering to each other, appeared to be very much in love. There were no soldiers and no signs of anyone loitering around the area without any useful purpose. Nevertheless, she stayed hidden and decided to wait for the nurse to arrive and observe her for a while before risking joining her. About twenty minutes had passed before George saw a dark-haired woman crossing the square making for the café. She had to look twice before she realised that it was the nurse as she had changed out of her uniform and was wearing a cotton frock that, like most clothing of the time, had probably seen better days. She settled herself at a table outside the café and by the looks of things appeared to be a regular as the waiter stopped to converse with her before taking her order and George saw the woman smile and laugh at something that was said. The fact that she was known here gave George more confidence but the nevertheless she bided her time making sure that no other customers appeared before deciding that she could risk going to speak to the woman. As she approached the café she saw that the woman had noticed her and she was wondering what excuse to make for sitting at the same table when the woman raised her hand and waved at her as if she was a friend or acquaintance and once she had drawn near said, "Hello. Thank you for joining me."

George sat down wondering not for the first time that day what on earth was going to happen but she was still determined to give nothing away. However, she cut to the chase.

"You said you might be able to help me?"

"Well, you seemed worried, Mademoiselle, and I was concerned about your relative."

This was a surprise to George, "Really?"

The woman nodded slowly, "Yes, if it's the same relative that I saw you sitting with on the bus from Conteville earlier this afternoon. He didn't look well."

Now George knew why the nurse had looked slightly familiar when she had entered the waiting room and why she had seemed puzzled by her arrival. The nurse had been the fellow passenger on the bus, the one who had disembarked at the same time as George and Emile and now she recalled that the woman had boarded the bus a few kilometres from town and must have been on her way to work. However, it also served as something of a relief. The nurse could have had no idea that George was going to come into the doctor's surgery an hour ago and it was therefore very likely that she wasn't trying to trap her but very possibly help as she had implied. George knew that she would have to take a leap of faith.

"You're right. He isn't well at the moment. He has a fever. I think it's an infection."

The woman nodded as if this confirmed what she had suspected, "Where are you staying?"

George hesitated, still unwilling to tell a stranger everything, "We haven't checked into a hotel yet."

The woman lowered her voice, "I sense, Mademoiselle, that you're wary of me and in turn I would advise you to be wary of the hotels around here. I saw that you didn't have any luggage with you and this is not the kind of place that people tend to stay just because they're passing through. Some of the proprietors like to gossip to the wrong people if you understand my meaning."

George nodded, "I think I do."

"Would it help if I took a look at your relative? I'm not a doctor but I'm a trained nurse."

In spite of the fact that she desperately needed the help George couldn't help asking, "Why would you do that?"

The woman sat back in her chair and appeared to be thinking about this although George realised that she was also glancing left and right and George sensed she was checking that they were not likely to be overheard. It was careful, measured behaviour that she recognised. She leaned forward again and lowered her voice, "I'm a patriot and I suspect that you are too." She held George's gaze and George knew she had two choices; trust this woman or walk away and try to cope with the consequences alone.

She nodded at her and said very quietly, "Yes, I'm a patriot."

X-X-X-X

George had been dodging rain showers all afternoon but it looked as if the weather had finally set in and the leaden sky promised a long night of wet weather. She hastened her steps, swinging the bag with its provisions by her side as she tried to reach the shelter of the barn about half a kilometre away up the hill.

George and Emile had been holed up in the barn for four days thanks to their extreme good luck in running into one of the very few people in the town who would have been prepared to help them. George had not known when she entered the waiting room of Doctor Girard that the nurse behind the desk, a spirited woman in her thirties by the name of Monique, was a sympathiser having two brothers who had left home to join the Maquis. George had also not known that by attempting to speak to the doctor she had come close to confiding in someone who could not be trusted. Whilst the presence of a German officer in the waiting room at Doctor Girard's surgery had not necessarily sounded a warning bell in George's mind as she knew it was not uncommon for officers to consult French doctors privately, it appeared that in Monique's opinion Doctor Girard was not a man to help someone in Emile's position. At best he might have turned them away and at worst thought it necessary to report them to the authorities. "He's not sympathetic," Monique had informed her later that evening after they had settled in at the remote barn on the farm of her cousin, Marcel Bonneau. "Doctor Girard just wants to walk the easiest path, keep his head down and cause no trouble, like so many others."

They had reached the barn thanks to Marcel collecting them on his way through town with his horse and cart and its load of hay. They had hidden beneath the hay for the forty minutes it took to get to the barn and had met with no trouble on the road. Once there Marcel had helped Emile up the ladder into the hayloft and Monique had bought blankets, food and medical supplies. She had examined Emile's wound and realised at once how it had happened, "I knew something was wrong with him when I saw him on the bus. He looked feverish and the awkward way he walked made me think he was injured." She cleaned and redressed the wound, promising to call back the following day, and gave Emile some tablets she had obtained from Doctor Girard's pharmacy.

"I keep the inventory, so I'll make sure he doesn't find out that any are missing."

George shook her head at this, "You've done so much for us, Monique. I don't know how to thank you."

Monique turned to look at her, "You don't need to tell me any details but I suspect you've both done so much for all of us. There's nothing to thank me for."

She told George about her two younger brothers who had left home more than a year ago to join the Maquis. "I miss them and I'd have gone with them if I could but my parents are elderly and they need me and if the worst should happen I'll be all they have. I couldn't abandon them but if there's something I can do then I do it."

Monique had been as good as her word, returning each evening with food and on the second evening with something else wrapped in a blue cloth; a revolver and some bullets. "Don't ask where I got it from but you might need it at some point, so keep it safe and hidden." She passed the weapon to George and set about checking on Emile who appeared to be improving having slept peacefully for most of the day and whose fever seemed to have finally abated.

Now in the late afternoon of the fourth day, George was returning from a walk down the hill to Marcel's farm to collect the provisions. Monique had advised that she couldn't call on them this evening as Doctor Girard had late appointments but George had offered to fetch the provisions herself. However, she had waited until it looked as if the rain would hold off for a while. Emile was much better. The fever had gone, the rest had given his wound time to start the healing process and he was growing stronger. As was always the case, they kept the hayloft ladder above with them and judging that Emile was now strong enough to manage it if she went out, she had passed it back up to him as she departed an hour or so ago.

The rain had started on the way back from the farm and George hurried along eager to get undercover but as she approached the barn she caught sight of movement near some other outbuildings a little way distance and realised they had company. She rushed inside the barn and pressing her eye to a gap between the planks on the wall saw, to her dismay, the grey uniforms of a couple of German soldiers who appeared to be patrolling the area and were heading in this direction. The rain was starting to fall more heavily and she suspected they were also seeking some shelter. There wasn't time to call out to Emile or climb up to the hayloft and instead she retreated to the darkest corner of the barn and crouched down hoping that they wouldn't search the place and praying that Emile would notice them and keep quiet.

The soldiers came into the barn and for a moment it appeared that they might just hover near the door for a while. They exchanged a few words and George was now certain that Emile, probably waiting out for her, must have been alerted by the sound and would keep still. However, one of them started to move towards the back of the barn, looking into the wooden stalls that lined one side and then, to her horror, she heard a creak from the boards over her head and she saw the soldier freeze alerted by the noise. He called something over his shoulder to his comrade who started looking around and she feared they were going to try to investigate the hayloft somehow.

It was a split second decision. George stood up and stepped out of the shadows and both soldiers startled by the movement raised their rifles to point them at her. Her heart was pounding. She took a deep breath and raised her hands, "Don't shoot."

Both looked wary but one spoke, "What are you doing here?"

"I was out for a walk and it started to rain. I came in to shelter for a while."

"Papers?" the second one demanded.

George shrugged, indicating that she had none with her, "As you see I was just out walking, I left them at home. I'm sorry."

The second soldier looked as though he was struggling to comprehend her but said slowly in reply, "You must have papers."

"I could go home and fetch them but…" she pointed outside, "It's awful out there at the moment. I was just trying to keep dry." He was still struggling to understand her but the first soldier waved a dismissive hand at him and said something in German that caused him to relent. He stepped away, shaking his head and walked to the open door to survey the sky. The first soldier remained close to George and had been watching her intently throughout, still suspicious but he had at least lowered his rifle.

"He's right. You could get into a lot of trouble. Not everyone would be as understanding." His French was evidently very good in comparison with his companion. "Do you walk out here often?"

His tone of voice has altered altogether and it sounded like a conversational opening. She replied in kind, "Sometimes."

He seemed to relax and slung his rifle over one shoulder before taking out a packet of cigarettes. To George's surprise he offered her one. She refused but he carried on and lit it, taking a long drag. An awkward silence descended whilst he smoked and George wondered if she should try to excuse herself and pretend to leave. She was on the point of doing just that before the soldier called out in German to his comrade at the barn door who looked annoyed but then moved away and headed in the direction of the outbuilding fifty yards away. The soldier turned back to George.

"Do you ever get into the village? We're often at the bar in the market square in the evenings."

She realised that he was trying to chat her up and keen to keep him in a good frame of mind answered, "I haven't been there yet. I'm fairly new here."

"I could show you around," he said taking off his helmet to reveal a shock of straw- blond hair. He ran his fingers through it and appeared to be looking her up and down.

"That's kind of you," George said a non-committal voice, feigning a smile.

He threw the cigarette onto the ground and stubbed it out with his heel before putting down his rifle and resting it against one of the wooden stalls.

He lowered his voice, "We're not all bad, you know."

He stepped towards her as he said this and for the first time George suspected that he had rather more in mind than inviting her to meet him for a drink one evening and possibly had ulterior motives for sending his companion away. She tried to make light of the situation.

"Well, I'll try to come down to the bar when I have time."

He moved in very close, his left hand reaching out to touch her hair and then taking her totally by surprise he leaned over and kissed her rather roughly. The unwanted attention, the smell and taste of the cigarettes and him repulsed her. She hastily took a step away from him but he was too quick for her. His right arm clasped around her waist and holding her in a vice like grip by the hair he pushed her into the stall behind her and hard up against the wall of the barn. He was still holding her head and he pulled it back. His mouth was upon hers, hard, crushing and forceful. She struggled, trying to turn her head left and right despite the pain of feeling her hair almost being pulled from its roots, to escape the repulsive sensation of him trying to force her mouth open. A sudden stinging, heavy slap to her face shocked her. She was stunned for a second and didn't move until she realised that while he was pinning her physically against the wall he was also in the process of lifting her skirt and fumbling to undo the belt of his trousers.

"No," she cried out instinctively, still struggling to push him away but now fearful of what would follow. Another slap to the face silenced her but, to her horror, as her head lolled back she caught sight of Emile's face pressed to a gap in the boards over her head. They locked eyes and the fury on his face told her what he was planning. She knew that he had the revolver and he was going to use it. As much as she was terrified and repulsed by what was happening she knew it was utter suicide for him to shoot this soldier with his comrade nearby. She shook her head and could see him struggling to contain himself, trapped above and unable to bear what he was seeing and hearing.

The soldier had undone the buckle of his belt and was unbuttoning his trousers taking advantage of the fact that George was temporarily stunned and he released his grip on her hair. She struck immediately, pushing him with all her might away from her. It had a small effect as he staggered back a few steps but it also seemed to make him angrier. Before she could slip away he threw her back against the wall, grasping both her arms and pinning them over her head, trapping her.

"Hey!"

The shout broke the soldier's concentration and he turned his head in surprise to see his comrade had returned and was standing at the door of the stall. George, glimpsing the expression on his face, could see that this man was not impressed by what was happening and he spoke harshly to him in German. The soldier holding George replied in an angry tone but the second man stepped forward and said something else before grabbing George's attacker by the arm and trying to pull him away. The conversation continued and he released George's arms. She immediately wriggled away desperately hoping that he would go. The exchange of words continued and George wished she could get away but her exit was blocked by both of them. Then to her utter relief the blond-haired soldier turned his back on her and followed his companion, hastily buckling his trousers and picking up his rifle and helmet as he did so and left without a backward glance.

The whole incident had lasted little more than a few minutes but every moment seemed to have been played out at a deathly slow pace. George felt her legs grow weak and sank to the floor in the hay, leaning against the wooden stall and breathing heavily. It had been a close call and if she was honest she'd been torn between wanting Emile to swiftly deal with the soldier and just wanting to save the situation and both of them although the consequences of the latter course of action made her shudder. Her saviour had been unexpected and she thanked her lucky stars that not all the occupiers behaved in such a brutal and callous manner as the blond soldier.

"George!"

She raised her eyes to see Emile looking down at her and struggled to her feet. She heard him shuffle over the boards above her and a few moments later with some difficulty the ladder dropped down to her. She climbed up with shaking legs and found him waiting for her full of concern. He reached out his left arm to her and she leaned in to him.

"God, I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's not your fault."

"If I hadn't been stuck here and utterly useless he'd have been sorry he ever decided to go near you."

She knew he was blaming himself for what might have happened but it was pointless. "I'm alright and it's over but we'll have to go or he might come back. Monique said there's a path through the woods to Sainte Amand. Do you think you're strong enough?"

He nodded and they sat in silence for a long while. George tried to erase the scene from her mind but it was playing back and already she couldn't help wondering if she should have said or done anything differently to prevent what had happened. Alongside her she sensed that Emile was still furious and frustrated by the fact he hadn't been able to help and it was making her feel worse. She got up and busied herself sorting out the provisions and they both ate some bread and cheese. It had grown late and the light had faded. She got to her feet.

"Come on, Emile. It's time to get out of here."

She offered her hand to help him up but he stayed where he was. He looked troubled and she knew he was going to say something.

"George, if that second soldier hadn't come back would you have …" He couldn't bring himself to say it and was struggling even to look at her. She knew it was from a sense of embarrassment at his inability to do anything but she didn't want him to keep torturing himself over something that hadn't happened.

"Emile, it's over and we didn't need to find out." She paused and forced a bright smile, "Anyway, I'm sure I would have thought of something."

She hoped she had convinced him but in truth it was an awful thought and she couldn't bring herself to contemplate it any further. She got to her feet and manoeuvred the ladder to the edge of the loft before lowering it to the floor. She climbed down and Emile joined her holding firmly with his one good hand but already showing signs of being much more mobile and it heartened her to see him returning to his old self. She reached out her hand to help him, "Come on."

He caught it and held it fast pulling her back towards him, "Just one more thing before we leave."

She looked into his eyes and saw the deadly serious expression there, "I'll never let anyone hurt you again, George. I promise."

She reached up to touch his face and reassure him, "I know." She smiled at him, "Let's get out of here."

For the first time in days she saw a smile hover at the corners of his mouth, "Do you have anywhere in mind?"

She pretended to consider it for a moment just as if the world were their oyster and this was a difficult decision, "I hear Spain is very nice at this time of year. What do you say?"

He nodded, "I think you're probably right about that." He bent his head to kiss her, "But I'm not a good judge because the truth is, I'd go anywhere with you, George. Looks like you're stuck with me."

She smiled back at him, "I think I'll manage."


	13. Chapter 13

**_Apologies for the long delay in updating. My family have been in need of some time and attention but I also have to confess that I have been writing this story a little out of sequence. The bad news is that this delayed the writing of Chapter Thirteen. The good news, however, is that I should be able to update the remainder of this story fairly quickly. I say 'remainder' as it is drawing to its conclusion although there is just a little more to go._**

 ** _So, after Emile had recovered from the infection in his wound and George had a frightening encounter with a German soldier, the pair set out again, heading for Spain…_**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

A gust of wind swirled the crops in waves around George and Emile as they lay flat on the ground in the middle of the field, their faces pressed into the earth, hoping that the German patrol they had spotted approaching would take the obvious course and move around the edge of the field. This had been George's idea. She had remembered an instructor at the Finishing School, who had recently returned from France, telling her how he had hidden this way on the assumption that people seldom cross a field of crops without a good reason. It was late August and the crops were ready for harvesting. In a few days they might not have been here to provide shelter.

George glanced at Emile. He was concentrating hard, listening out for the sounds of any soldiers approaching but she could hear nothing but the rustle of the breeze through the leaves. They could have stayed where they were in the trees near the edge of the field and tried to brazen it out if they had been seen when the soldiers appeared but they were close to the frontier area and patrols were frequent as the Spanish border lay only fifteen kilometres away across the mountains that rose up in the distance, a daunting physical barrier to freedom.

George and Emile had been waiting for their guide when they had seen the patrol and had no option but to hide if they wanted to avoid almost certain arrest. There were frequent attempts to cross the border by evaders who ranged from desperate refugees to shot down allied aircrew and the Germans had become efficient at halting the escapes of many. However, there were still the few lucky ones who not only managed to cross the border but survive the harsh trek through the mountains. George and Emile intended to be in that number.

It had taken them the best part of a week to reach Bayonne, trying to avoid the main railway lines and busy towns along the way but even then they had found themselves subject to delays and long waits at obscure railway stations on small branch lines. Emile was growing stronger and they had finally been able to drop the pretence of being on the way to Armancourt for the benefit of his mental health. They had reverted to the approach advised by their training instructors and now sat well apart on trains and took care not to be seen arriving or leaving stations or other public places together.

On one occasion, however, they had risked staying a night at a hotel in a small town when they had been stranded at a station with no hope of getting away before curfew fell. The weather had turned in and there was no obvious place to find shelter. Emile had told the hotel owner, a well-upholstered middle-aged woman with pursed lips who clearly considered herself a leading light in the local community and upholder of moral standards, that they were cousins on the way to a family funeral and that they would have to share a room as they were short of money with the unexpected expense of being stranded here overnight. She had tutted and looked disapproving but had finally relented and given them a room. It had been a half-truth as their funds were not exactly short but Emile knew they would need money to pay a Spanish guide and they had to keep sufficient back. They were both exhausted but had nevertheless taken turns to keep watch ever fearful of betrayal. They had left the hotel as soon as it was light not wishing to risk staying any longer than necessary for fear that the police or Germans might call by to make a check on registered guests. The hotel owner was obliged to check the papers of all guests on arrival and record their details but Emile and George had departed long before the local German Feldpolizei arrived to look through the register later that morning.

When George had first proposed that she and Emile head for Spain she had formed only the faintest outline of how they would reach the border and cross it but it was Emile who had filled in the details.

"I ran into a chap when I was training for France, Paul Masters. He was RAF like me but he'd been shot down over Belgium and made it back through an escape line. He told me about the route they took and said a guide had been paid to take them into Spain. He was a bit cagey about it but he said they'd gone as far as a village called Beautroux a few miles from the border and there was a chap who was a garage mechanic there and he'd made the arrangements. It's not much to go on but we'll have to give it a try."

He was right, George reflected, it was risky as hell following a lead from many months ago. Who knew what might have happened in the intervening period but she also knew that attempting to cross the border through the mountains without the local knowledge and experience of a guide was akin to suicide.

They had reached Bayonne two days ago but not stayed there. Instead they had taken a bus in the direction of Beautroux but alighted a stop early without much idea of how far they would have to walk but determined to approach the village with caution and check the place out before committing themselves to their course of action. It had taken them half an hour to reach Beautroux and when they arrived they could see it was a typical small French village. It was approaching noon and they knew that what little life there was in a place so small and sleepy would soon evaporate when the town clock struck the hour. The last thing they needed was to be seen wandering around the deserted lunchtime streets.

"I'll go into the centre and make the enquiries," Emile asserted. George opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her, "Don't try to argue, George, it's non-negotiable."

She silently acquiesced, knowing he was conscious of how much he had relied upon her for the first few weeks and how much he wanted to share the burden of risk but she felt that she was better equipped in these circumstances. The many weeks of working as a courier had necessitated her walking into many unknown situations and having to use her judgment but she could see that Emile was determined and she knew it was his decision.

"Alright, I'll wait in the church."

She looked worried and Emile understood why but he leaned in and kissed her, "Trust me, George."

He turned and walked away and she watched him for a short while, trying to keep control of the anxiety that arose whenever they parted, before she turned back towards the church.

She waited in nervous hope and anticipation of his return. There had been many occasions when she had put herself in potential danger but she had weighed up the risks, taken the necessary precautions and relied on her instincts. A few times she had walked away from situations, unhappy with the feel of something but she had never been blamed. It had always been her prerogative whether to proceed with a rendezvous. She was worried about Emile but knew he was trying to protect her. She wasn't religious but for the first time in a long while she bowed her head and offered up a silent prayer for his return.

When she heard the church door open almost an hour later she resisted the urge to turn her head. She kept it bowed in a semblance of prayer until she heard someone move into the pew behind her and then the relief of Emile's voice.

"I hope you're praying for us."

George sat upright and turned her head a fraction, "Do I need to?"

"Wouldn't do any harm."

George checked around her and satisfied that there was no one else in the building she turned around completely to face him.

"Did you make contact?"

Emile nodded, "He was very wary but I think he accepted I was genuine, especially when I mentioned Paul Masters and showed him I could pay. We've to meet someone just before sunset tomorrow at a roadside shrine outside the village of Lugny. It's about four kilometres from here. The guide will stop to pray at the shrine."

"We should get there early," George said, "Just in case…"

There was no need to finish the sentence they both knew that they were at risk of arrest from deliberate betrayal or from accidental discovery but the wisest course of action would be to get to the rendezvous long before the appointed time and keep it under observation. If there was any hint that something was wrong they could leave without giving themselves away.

"Come on, let's get out of here and find somewhere to lie low," Emile said. "I think we should rest. Even if we manage to avoid the Germans, this is going to be tough, George, make no mistake about that."

They had left the village immediately ensuring they were not followed and found a remote shack off the beaten track, which was little more than a disused, tumbledown hut that had clearly been abandoned a long time ago but was well hidden. There was little comfort to be found within but they settled down and shared out what was left of the provisions they had with them. It wasn't much to sustain them on a long arduous journey but food was the very least of their worries at the moment.

Emile closed his eyes and tried to sleep but his mind was turning over the conversation with the garage mechanic, Marcel. Once he had located the garage and observed the mechanic at work for a while he had summoned up the courage to approach him. It had been an awkward encounter. The man had just as much reason to be wary of Emile, who could easily have been a German agent, as Emile had to fear betrayal. If Emile was honest, he was amazed that the man was still at work there having feared that this escape route would have been put out of business long ago.

They had hedged around the issue for a while as Emile had tested the waters with some vague enquiries about needing a repair to his wife's bicycle and informing Marcel that he had been recommended by an acquaintance for whom he had done some work last year.

"He was just passing through on his way south and you were so good as to sort out a problem for him."

Marcel had looked at him in all innocence, "I'm glad I was of service."

"Yes, " Emile continued, "And you were particularly helpful when he needed some directions for his journey. I understand you know someone who's very familiar with this area."

From the slight frown this remark produced Emile thought that Marcel understood the drift of the conversation now but he was still being very wary.

"Who was the friend who recommended me, Monsieur?"

Emile paused, wondering how much he should reveal to a stranger. This was highly risky but he had to hope for the best because he had no other options.

"Paul."

Marcel shrugged, "Paul who? How would I know him?"

"He's from the north. Quite a long way north of here."

Emile was now sure from the expression on Marcel's face that he understood the reference but he was conflicted as to whether to trust him. Emile knew he would have to convince him somehow and it would involve a leap of faith on both sides.

"I think we understand each other, Marcel, and I think you remember my friend. I have money and I'm willing to give you a share right now. I'll leave more for you to collect wherever you want." He reached into his jacket, removed a wad of notes and offered it to the man, "But I need some assistance for me and my wife and I think you can arrange that."

Marcel had stretched out his hand, taken the notes from Emile and counted them before he nodded and said, "Very well, but there's something you should know."

Emile had given George the outline of the conversation thus far but he hadn't told George the part that had followed.

"The Germans have been around asking questions about a man and a woman who might be in this area. They called them terrorists," Marcel said slowly as he wiped the grease from his fingers.

Emile knew he was testing the waters but he had shrugged, "That's what they always say. Other people might call them patriots."

"Well they seemed very interested in these two in particular. There was an officer with them, not one from around here."

The news was unsettling but it still didn't mean anything in particular to Emile. The Germans were always asking questions. The man pointed to the wall of the building next door, "They've got a photograph of the woman."

Emile had turned his head to look in the direction indicated and was shocked to the core to see George's face staring back at him from the poster pasted to the wall. It was the photograph taken from her old identity papers. For a moment he was totally at a loss to understand how this could have happened. They were a long way from Varennes but clearly someone had traced them here or anticipated their movements. It was the worst news, however, he tried to hide his dismay as he turned back to the man and sought to avoid the issue.

"My wife and I have business to attend to and she has family south of here. Will you be able to help?"

Marcel had given him a long searching look and Emile had tried hard to quell the anxious feelings that were rising. He didn't know whether the man believed him on any front but he thanked god at least, that George hadn't come with him. The game would definitely have been over if she had walked through the door and he might well have refused to assist.

Marcel threw down the cloth, "I know someone but it'll cost more than when your friend crossed last year."

Emile nodded. He had no intention of haggling. They were in far too precarious a position to argue about the price. They agreed terms and the man gave him the rendezvous details. Emile had left as soon as possible and joined George at the church. By the time he had sat down next to her at the pew he had decided to keep the information that they were being pursued to himself. There was nothing to be gained from making George any more anxious than she already was. They were both well aware of the risks and knowing the whole story wouldn't change the odds.

They had waited out the rest of the day and the night that followed taking turns to keep watch while the other slept, restricting conversation to a minimum as both felt the tension of the situation but preferred to keep to their own thoughts. The following afternoon, knowing that they needed to arrive in good time for their rendezvous and wanting to take time to reconnoitre the area, they finally ventured out into the open and began to make their way cross-country to the designated location.

Having found the roadside shrine they had settled down in some trees a little way distant to keep watch and had been there about an hour before they had seen grey uniforms in the distance heading their way. Not knowing if they were there by coincidence or design and unsure where to find cover, Emile and George had taken the unusual step of heading into a field of waist-high crops before throwing themselves to the ground in the centre and praying that it was just a routine patrol that would pass by.

They had lain in the field for at least half an hour before George whispered to Emile, "Do you think they've gone?"

He grimaced, "Only one way to find out."

With difficulty he struggled to his knees and then into a crouched position.

"I'll make my way to the edge of the field and take a look around. If everything seems alright, I'll give a single whistle. Understood?"

George nodded. Emile took a deep breath and then slowly started to make his way back out of the crops, keeping low to the ground and trying to produce as little movement as possible. George continued to lie flat, straining her ears for any tell-tale signs that they had unwelcome company but there was nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees and the twittering of the birds.

X-X-X-X

Weber raised his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. The Pyrénées rose majestically in the distance, all but the summits clearly visible in the bright sunshine. He liked the mountains and had spent many winters as a young man skiing in the Alps. The war, however, had brought a stop to such pastimes and he missed them. He missed much of the way life had been before the war even though the war had given him a job and a purpose that had been lacking in those days when he had been a wealthy young man moving in the higher social circles in Germany. He'd made powerful friends of wealth and influence; he was intelligent, educated and urbane. He wasn't a fighting man but he'd always known he had skills to offer and it hadn't been difficult to find a role that allowed him to pursue his interests. At this moment there was only one pursuit in his mind.

He had been following the trail of the woman known as both Louise Aubert and Yvette Laurent for several weeks now. From the moment he had recognised the photograph of Louise Aubert and realised he had been duped the first time they had met on the train to Courcelles he had been determined to track her down. It had become a matter of personal pride not that he would admit to anyone that he had allowed the attractiveness of a young woman to blind him that day. When she had been rescued by a daring ambush on the way from the prison in Varennes to Abwehr headquarters it had only served to convince him that she had an important role in the local resistance network.

The arrest of Bernard following a tip-off had given Weber an opportunity to probe the structure of the network even if it had taken time to win the confidence of the man. He frowned; confidence was too strong a word. Bernard certainly hadn't trusted him, he had barely spoken a word to Weber but the Abwehr officer had planted the seeds of doubt in the Frenchman's mind with the unspoken suggestion that the woman, he was sure was known to Bernard, was an informer. On the day of Bernard's arrest, Weber had left him to stew on this information until late that evening after he had enjoyed a dinner with Mademoiselle Henry. She hadn't been happy that he intended to abandon her for the rest of the evening but it was of little matter to him as he had begun to tire of her and found the challenge of Bernard a far more interesting proposition on this occasion.

Bernard had maintained his silence during the questioning that evening but Weber had decided to press home his line of enquiry.

"Do you know, Bernard, whilst I was having dinner this evening with a very charming young lady, I'm afraid I was most ungallant."

Bernard showed no interest, so Weber continued, "I didn't attend to her conversation because I found that I was thinking about something else." He sat up in his chair, "I was thinking about you. In fact I was thinking how much we have in common. Call it a shared interest."

Bernard looked at him but his expression betrayed nothing.

"You see," Weber continued, "I think you recognised a photograph you saw in here earlier, the photograph of the young woman that you picked up from the floor."

Bernard continued to maintain a neutral expression but Weber could tell he was waiting to hear what came next.

"She's deceived us both and run away before she had to face the consequences of her duplicitous actions. Right now I imagine we'd both like to catch up with her."

Bernard took a deep breath, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Weber learned forward, "Don't you? You mean you've never been suspicious about why the drop zone was overrun a few weeks ago, why the raid at the factory went wrong or why you were arrested?"

Bernard stayed silent but Weber continued, "She's been on our payroll for months."

For the first time Bernard raised his eyes to look Weber squarely in the face. There was a smile on his lips and Weber was curious, "You find that amusing?"

Bernard shook his head, "No, I just know now that you're lying."

Perhaps it hadn't been the response he had hoped for but Weber now recalled that it was the moment that confirmed his suspicions. Bernard had refused to say anything further and denied all knowledge of anything but he had unconsciously told Weber two pieces of information: the woman was definitely part of the Maverick circuit and she hadn't been with them long, in fact, he was willing to bet she wasn't even French which might account for her recent arrival.

The fact that Weber had allowed an SOE agent to slip through his fingers, and he was now sure that she must be one, only spurred him on to track her down. It had been reported that a woman had been seen at the factory raid helping an injured man to get away. His men had carried out extensive enquiries and discovered that Bernard's van had been seen in the small hamlet of Neuville and once they had moved in on the area it hadn't taken long to discover that a couple, the Moreaus, had left very suddenly on the excuse of visiting an ill relative in Paris on the very day of Bernard's arrest. They had searched the house and found some evidence that someone who had been staying there had met with an accident. There had been bloodstained bandages hidden beneath other refuse in a small incinerator at the rear of the property; clearly there hadn't been time to light it before leaving. He was willing to bet that the injured man had been taken there.

Eventually, their enquiries had unearthed that a woman matching Louise Aubert's description had been seen with a man at a small station, ten kilometres away. The ticket seller remembered she had been looking after a man he described as a 'simpleton'. They made more enquiries at every station down the line and a German officer at Grimont remembered an incident that had taken place at a checkpoint when a man from a mental institute travelling in the care of his cousin, had thrown a fit. Weber's men had shown him the photograph of Louise Aubert and he had confirmed it was the same woman.

It had been more difficult to find any trace of them after the checkpoint incident but Weber was sure they must be heading south with a purpose in mind. The circuit was broken, the man with the Aubert woman was injured and if the she was sticking closely to him there must be a good reason. He concluded that they were possibly both SOE agents and would be intent on making their escape. The swiftest route to freedom was via Spain but it was far from easy. At times Weber's common sense told him that in all likelihood the birds had flown but the thought that the woman had slipped through his fingers twice rankled with him and he continued to trawl through reports that filtered through to his desk having requested information from beyond his own area. He scanned through arrest details and information supplied by officers and informers in the hope that something relevant would turn up but it seemed as if they must have gone to ground. About two weeks later however, something appeared; a report from the local German Feldpolizei in the Bayonne area with details of a man and a woman registering for one night at a small hotel in Festubert after being stranded at the station overnight. They had arrived late without luggage and much to the hotel owner's surprise left unobserved at the crack of dawn. The description of the woman certainly matched the photograph of Louise Aubert although Weber knew that France was awash with dark-haired young women and it could have been anyone but he prided himself that he had an instinct for these matters. The hotel was only thirty kilometres from Bayonne and curiosity had piqued him. Without wishing to delay any longer, he had informed his adjutant, Baumann, he would be pursuing enquiries in the Bayonne area, instructed his driver to drive south and taken off in that direction within barely an hour of reading the report.

They had reached Festubert by late afternoon the following day and Weber's appearance at the hotel had clearly caused the owner some consternation. He was by now fairly astute at recognising the small signs that French people disliked him even though many, particularly those who held any position in the community, were at pains to try to hide their aversion, preferring to grit their teeth behind fixed smiles or overcompensate with their helpfulness. The hotel owner was in the latter category, all politeness, affected manners and an insistence that she wished to be as helpful as possible. He began by asking her if she remembered the man and woman who had arrived three days ago without luggage, quite late in the evening.

"Yes, certainly. They said they were on their way to a family funeral and had been held up because of the…er….delays."

She had checked herself before blaming the occupying powers and he pretended he hadn't noticed.

"Did they say anything else about themselves, where they had come from perhaps?"

The woman appeared to be thinking hard to recall the conversation but shook her head, "Very little, I'm sorry."

"It's of small matter," Weber said with a smile, trying to put the woman at ease, "Did they both seem well?"

He saw her frown in puzzlement, "In what way do you mean _well_ , Monsieur?"

"Perhaps 'fit' would be a better term, Madame."

She considered this for a moment or two, "The woman seemed well but I do recall that the man didn't sign the register. I was surprised when he asked the woman to do it. It's not really the done thing, you understand."

Weber nodded, implying he understood her point but in truth he was more interested by the reason why he hadn't been able or willing to do so.

He reached into his tunic pocket and took out the photograph of the young woman he had shown Bernard and held it out to the middle-aged lady, "Tell me, Madame, is this the woman who came to the hotel with the man?"

She took the photograph from him and stared at the picture for a full ten seconds before answering, "Yes, I think it is although she looked a little different. Her hair was darker and tied back from her face but it looks like her."

"And the man? How would you describe him?"

"Tall, although he was bent over a little for some reason, perhaps in his mid to late twenties, dark-haired…" she shrugged and shook her head slightly indicating she could think of no other distinguishing features.

"Could you show me the register?"

She moved behind the desk and reached for the large leather bound book in which all the guests were required to register on arrival before showing their papers. She turned a page and then pointed to the entry on the left hand page. Weber leaned forward and scrutinised the writing. It was small, neat hand, the style was French and it gave no hidden clues about its owner. He straightened up, "Thank you, Madame, you've been most helpful."

She smiled and inclined her head slightly, "I'm always pleased to be of assistance. I'm sure you'd hear as much from anyone in the town."

Weber turned away having had his fill of obsequious attention for one day. The meeting had confirmed his belief that the woman and her companion had been here but it had also told him the names they were using; Marie Bouchard and Claude Benoit.

In Bayonne he had dropped in to see his Abwehr counterpart in the region, a Major by the name of Schuster whom he had met once at a formal dinner in Frankfurt. He explained that he was following a lead on two resistance members he suspected of being in the area.

"Tell me, Schuster, where's the best place to catch evaders on the border?"

His colleague considered this for a few moments before responding, "In my experience there are two areas that see most activity but one, between Beautroux and Lugny, has been quiet for a long time as we've effectively shut down operations there. We caught quite a few British evaders there last year but the increased patrols seem to have deterred attempts. We're finding far more a little further south east at Masioncelle now. You're welcome to go down there and take a look at our operation in action if you like." He leaned forward clearly eager to impress his colleague with the efficiency of their activities.

"Thank you but I think I'd like to take a look around the first area. I think they'd head to the place we'd least expect to find them."

Schuster looked as if he disagreed with his colleague. It annoyed him that Weber would doubt his assertion that they had effectively brought escape attempts to an end but he recalled now that when they had met two years ago Weber had displayed supreme confidence bordering on arrogance in his own abilities, far more confidence than they probably merited. It would be amusing, Schuster considered, to see him brought down a peg or two.

"As you wish, Weber. This might be interesting. In fact, how do you fancy a little wager on your chances of success? I'll even lend you four of my men for a few days, just to stack the odds a little more in your favour."

Weber nodded, "That's very good of you Schuster. I'll take you up on that offer and the bet."

Schuster reached out to shake him by the hand, "A bottle of cognac to the winner?"

Weber had no objections. "A bottle of cognac it is."

Now here they were in the foothills of the Pyrénées, south of Beautroux: Weber, his driver and the four men that Schuster had spared him. Furnished with all the locations in which evaders had previously been caught, he had spent the previous evening examining maps of the area and had narrowed his search and patrol area down to a triangle of locations feeling sure that if his targets were to cross anywhere it would be here. He gazed around him. It was a fine day and ideal for embarking on a long trek into the mountains. This was the second day he had spent co-ordinating the men on their search but he had an overwhelming feeling that luck was with him and it wouldn't be long before the tables turned in his favour.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

The sun was sinking in the west, the sky beginning to glow orange and pink and the dark evening shadows creeping across the fields as a lone farmhand trudged along the road from Beautroux towards the crossroads near Lugny. He was dressed like any other working man in the region; the shapeless, sagging trousers betraying their age and long service, a rough canvas workman's jacket slung over one shoulder, a beret on his head and a scarf loosely knotted around his neck. He walked at a slow, leisurely pace, his boots occasionally scuffing on the rough surface sending a stone scuttling across to land in the grassy bank at the edge of the road. He was just an ordinary man heading home after a long day's labouring and hoping for a simple hot meal and perhaps a glass of wine to end the day.

George and Emile watched him approach from their hiding place in the trees some way distant from the crossroads. To the relief of them both the German patrol which had appeared earlier in the afternoon had moved on and after a few anxious minutes waiting alone George had heard Emile give a single whistle and had followed the same route as him and joined him at the edge of the field. Together they had returned to keep watch from the safety of the trees but it had been a long afternoon in which only one car, a farmer with a horse and cart and a priest on a bicycle had passed by. There had been no signs of any other activity but as the light had started to fade they had both silently begun to wonder if they were to be out of luck and no guide was to materialise. Emile had said nothing to George but he was already trying to work out where they could go next and what they could do. It had been his idea to come here and try their luck and if Marcel had simply taken their money or worse still gone to the Germans they would be in an even worse position than they were now.

They both watched the farmhand as he slowly approached the crossroads, expecting him to continue on his way but as he reached the shrine he slowed and bent down to tie the laces on his left boot. It was then that Emile noticed the man was surreptitiously looking around him to the left and right and he began to suspect that this might be their guide. He glanced at George and knew that she had noticed it too. They exchanged looks and Emile whispered, "If he stops to pray then I'll go and meet him. You stay here."

The man stood up and crossed the short remaining distance to the shrine. He appeared to be studying it for a while but finally he bowed his head and closed his eyes and Emile knew that he must venture out from hiding. He was about to move when George caught his hand. She grasped it tightly, "If anything's wrong just run like hell."

He reached into his jacket, took out the revolver that Monique had given him and handed it to her.

"If anything goes wrong then just get the hell out of here yourself. Don't wait for me. No heroics this time, alright?"

The thought was heart breaking but George knew he was right. She nodded. "I love you, Emile."

He smiled briefly and held her gaze, "There's never been anyone else for me, George."

He turned and was gone before she could say another word. She remained hidden and watched him move slowly in the gathering darkness down towards the roadside shrine where the man was still standing in respectful prayer.

George's heart was in her mouth. They had trusted a stranger on the basis of instinct, hope and necessity and in truth had no idea what would happen. Emile was approaching with caution and the man had obviously heard him. He turned his head to observe Emile and appeared to show no sign of surprise. Emile paused a few metres away and said something that George couldn't hear. The man nodded and then waited. Emile reached into his jacket and George could see that he was taking out the money that had been agreed. The man stepped towards him and Emile handed the money over. The man shoved the money in his pocket and then looked around him. George held her breath fearing he was expecting something to happen but then to her relief she saw Emile turn as well and raising a hand he beckoned to her. She slowly ventured towards them, still wary that something could go wrong but as she neared all remained quiet and she felt some of her fears starting to fade. As she reached them the man held out his hand to her and she took it.

"I'm Miguel, your guide."

She heard the Spanish in his accent and was relieved yet again. Up close she could see that he was younger than she had initially thought when she had seen him trudging the up the road the very portrait of a middle-aged man worn out by a life of labouring. Now she could see that he was probably no more than thirty-five but he was short, stocky and of muscular build and had the tanned and weathered look of a man who had spent a lifetime in the mountains. She knew instinctively that he was tough and he underlined it at once with an uncompromising command.

"You must do whatever I say, when I tell you and keep your mouths shut. There are many German patrols in the area and if you argue or cause any trouble I won't hesitate to shoot you myself. Do you understand?"

George and Emile exchanged looks but they both nodded in response.

"You're in charge," Emile agreed.

"Then let's go."

Miguel set off at once, striding ahead with renewed energy and already moving at a pace that George realised would be difficult for them to maintain as the climb became steeper. She looked over at Emile; he was working hard and keeping up but despite the fact that he had rallied considerably in the last few days, she knew that he was far from being the fit young man he had been when she had first arrived in France. The wound and its aftermath had taken their toll on him. He had been right when he told her it was going to be tough. Neither of them was used to the conditions they would have to face but they had no choice and there was no way back now.

X-X-X-X

Dawn was breaking as George, Emile and Miguel approached the place that Miguel had informed them was close to the border. They had been walking over steeply rising ground all night and despite the fact that the temperature had dropped significantly, they were drenched in sweat and breathing hard before Miguel signalled with the raising of his hand that they needed to stop. He crouched down and turning to them ordered them to wait while he scouted ahead. They watched him leave, both of them too tired to utter a word. George looked over at Emile, lying back against the bank, his eyes closed. He was pale and breathing hard, unable to hide the grimacing that must signal that he was in pain. He would never admit it but she knew he was finding it difficult. It would have been tough enough if they had both been fit, well-fed and rested but with so little on their side they had nothing to sustain them but hope.

George gazed into the distance. The sun was beginning to rise and it looked as if it would be a hot day. She was already parched. She tapped Emile on the arm, "Have you got any water left in your canteen?"

Emile reached into his pocket and took out the small flask. There was barely any liquid remaining and she felt guilty about drinking what little they had when she was sure that he might need it more than her.

"There was a stream a little bit further down the hill, over to the left," she whispered. "I'll go back down and fill the canteen up while Miguel is gone."

Emile turned his head to look at her, "That's not a good idea, George."

He still sounded breathless and she shook her head, "Neither is collapsing from lack of water. I don't think Miguel's the sort to stop if anyone falls by the wayside. Do you want to be abandoned up here?"

It was a sobering thought. Emile knew he was suffering from the lack of water and he had no idea how long it would be before they found another source.

"I'll go."

George shook her head, "No you won't. It was my idea and it'll be quicker if I do it. I'll be back before you know it."

She didn't give him time to protest but wrestled the canteen from his grasp and raising herself, slipped away down the track before he could say any more against the idea.

Perhaps her tiredness, thirst and the poor light at dawn had played tricks on her but George was sure that the stream had been closer than it now appeared to be. However, once she had gone part of the way back down the track she could see no point in returning without the water. It had taken her several minutes to locate the stream again but hearing it about thirty metres below the track she scrambled down over the loose scree towards the sound, keen to fill up and return to Emile as soon as she could.

X-X-X-X

Weber paused for breath. It was a steep mountain track and it had been a long while since he had been out in wild country like this. He had set out before dawn with his driver, keen to get an early start and growing conscious that three days had passed since his arrival in the area and despite making substantial enquiries they had turned up no strong leads. At the back of his mind was the bet with Schuster. Time was running out and the thought of handing over a bottle of cognac and seeing the smug expression on Schuster's face irked him. His driver had taken the car around to a checkpoint in one of the neighbouring villages as Weber had decided to venture out with the patrols himself feeling that they would benefit from his personal direction. They were Schuster's men and he wouldn't have put it past him to have suggested to them that they need not be too thorough. He had examined the map this morning and split them into two pairs before sending them out in a pincer like direction to circle around the designated area. He had chosen to take the rough track through the centre. It hadn't looked too steep at the outset but he had been breathing hard by the time he reached a junction in the path where he could pause for a rest.

Dawn had broken and the sun was starting to rise in the east. Weber removed his cap and taking a handkerchief from his pocket wiped his brow, removing the beads of perspiration that had formed there. He undid the top button of his tunic, and grasping the material shook it slightly glad of the cooler air on his skin. It was going to be a warm day. He was about to sit on a boulder nearby when his attention was caught by some movement to his right. He could hear the sound of trickling water in a small gully below and saw the ferns near the water start to rustle as if something was pushing a path through them towards the water. He anticipated it was an animal and, with the instincts of man who had hunted since his youth, watched for the first sight of what he assumed would be a goat or possibly a mountain deer. The prey, when it revealed itself, caused him a sharp intake of breath.

A woman was down below at the water's edge and appeared to be filling a vessel of some kind with water. He instinctively crouched down behind the boulder, determined not to be seen and curious as to whom it might be. When she stood up again and turned slightly to retrace her steps back up the steep bank of the gully, he recognised her at once. An involuntary smile came to his lips. He waited only long enough for her to move out of his sight before he started to hurry up the track in the direction from which she had come. He thought of Schuster again and this time the smile spread to a broad grin. He was going to win his bet. Luck was definitely on his side today; he had found his quarry.

X-X-X-X

George climbed out of the gully and reached the main track before pausing to take a drink from the refilled water canteen. She knew she had taken much longer than she had anticipated and she ought to hurry back up to the place she had left Emile before Miguel returned. She had no doubt he would take a very dim view of her excursion and wasting no time turned to go.

"Marie Bouchard!"

The sound of a loud male voice coming from somewhere behind and below on the track startled George. She froze in her tracks. It was vaguely familiar. The tone was authoritative and the French pronunciation was good but there was also the hint of an accent.

"Or is it Louise Aubert or maybe Yvette Laurent? Are any of them your real name?"

George slowly turned in utter dread, knowing now who it would be.

Weber was standing about twenty metres below her on the track with a revolver in his hand pointing directly at her. His immaculate uniform, the shine on his boots and the fact that he looked impossibly well-groomed in spite of the fact he was half-way up a mountain track in the middle of nowhere, bizarrely struck George as very odd as he looked so utterly out of place here. Having only met him once on the train to Courcelles, she found herself struggling to comprehend why he was here at all but he swiftly saved her the bother.

"I've been on your trail for several weeks and I knew I would find you, eventually. I just didn't think it would be this easy. I was standing a little way below, looking at the view and you appeared. What are the odds of that do you think?"

George thought briefly of playing innocent and pretending she had no idea what he was talking about but she realised at once that it would be pointless. He knew who she was or at least who he thought she was.

"So, Marie, Louise, Yvette …which are you?"

She shrugged, "It doesn't matter."

Weber considered this, "Well, let's just continue where we left off many weeks ago. I think I'll call you Yvette."

George looked him squarely in the face and could see that he was excited somehow by the fact that he had her at his mercy. She briefly recalled the conversation on the train and realised that he was clearly a man who enjoyed the sound of his own voice and, she fancied, he considered himself civilised with his attempts to engage her in what he probably thought of as conversation whilst all the time he pointed a gun at her. She sensed that all of this was a game to him, one which he used in an attempt to distance himself from the reality of his actions and from his colleagues whom he probably considered thugs in comparison.

"I don't care what you call me."

He affected a look of mock surprise, "Would you prefer me to call you a terrorist?"

Despite her fear George felt anger too, "I expect you'd like to be called a gentleman," she retorted, "but giving someone a name doesn't make it true."

She saw a flash of annoyance in his eyes, clearly the remark had hit home but he quickly recovered his composure.

"Your opinion is irrelevant but the actions of you and your comrades are not." He looked around him. "Tell me, Yvette, where is your companion?"

It was obvious now to George from the fact that he had admitted pursuing her that he knew a lot about her and he knew she was with Emile. He must have been following both of them since they left Neuville. She wondered briefly whether Bernard or anyone else had talked but reasoned almost at once that no one could have known that they had been planning to go to Spain. She thought of Emile waiting for her to return and knew that as soon as Miguel discovered she'd gone he would demand that Emile continue without her. All was lost. She could do nothing for herself now but play for time and give them an opportunity to get away.

"I don't know what you mean."

Weber raised his eyebrows in a gesture of exasperation, "Don't patronise me, Yvette. I knew where I'd find you and I know you're with a man."

She shook her head, "Not now. We've gone our separate ways."

She couldn't tell if he believed her as his expression gave very little away but all the time he had been talking he had been slowly moving towards her with the gun still pointed at her.

"We'll wait here, shall we, until my men have carried out a sweep of the area. I've no doubt we'll find your companion too."

He was now only a few feet away and he levelled the gun at her. Perhaps it was her defiance or her attempt to insult him that was to blame but now that he was close to her George could tell that something had changed in his demeanour. The conversational tone was gone.

"Get on your knees."

It was an order, there was no mistaking the menace in his voice and she wondered if she had completely underestimated him, that he wasn't the type to leave the dirty work to someone else and that he actually intended to kill her or at the very least threaten her into revealing Emile's whereabouts. For the first time a wave of desperate hopelessness washed over her and she could see no way out of this situation. It took every ounce of her inner strength to stay calm. She took a deep breath and began to lower herself to her knees when with a sudden jolt she remembered the open water canteen she was still holding in her right hand, the one from which she had been about to drink when Weber had disturbed her. With a sudden upward thrust she threw the contents of the canteen into his face.

Weber was startled, shocked by the cold, drenching water and thrown off balance. In those brief seconds, remembering her training, George took advantage of his discomposure and stamped on his foot with the heel of her shoe whilst grabbing the arm holding the gun in both hands and banging it sharply against her knee. His fingers flexed and lost their grip and he dropped the gun. George scrambled to reach it but Weber, recovering from the surprise, was too quick for her. He caught her by the wrist and twisted her arm, causing her to cry out. She continued to struggle with him, despite the pain, and kicked out with all her might but still he held firm and it was with an ever increasing sense of frustration that she realised she had probably blown her one chance to break free. He was holding her arm fast, twisting it ever more to keep her under control but also reaching out with his left arm for the gun still lying on the ground. She could see it from the corner of her eye and tried to stretch her foot out to kick it away knowing that in a second or two he would have it back within his grasp and he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

A shot rang out, piercing the silence and echoing around the steep mountainsides. Weber froze for a moment and stared uncomprehendingly at George, blinking in astonishment before reality overcame his shock and inevitably he sank heavily to his knees. His grip started to loosen on her wrist before his fingers slipped away entirely and he released her as he crumpled to the ground. A long drawn-out gasp escaped from his mouth as blood began to flow freely from the wound in his chest.

George's legs felt like heavy blocks of wood as she tried to take a few steps away from him, shocked by the turn of events and almost overcome by the sudden realisation that she'd been handed an opportunity to escape when all hope seemed to have disappeared. The sound of running footsteps stumbling over the rough ground and scattering loose stones in every direction, however, brought her to her senses and she turned her head, fearful it would be one of Weber's men. With a gasp of relief she saw that it was Emile running back down the track towards her, the gun that had fired the fateful shot still in his hand.

"Come on," he yelled waving his hand, urging her to run towards him, "Before any of the patrol return."

The sound of his voice galvanized her into action. Life came back to her limbs and she started to gather pace as she ran towards him. He reached out a hand to her urging her on and as she drew level with him she grasped it in total relief, "You came back for me!"

"Yes," he gasped starting to run back up the track almost pulling her behind him, "I knew I shouldn't have let you go."

They struggled back up the track all the time expecting soldiers to appear or firing to start but when they finally reached the resting place they found only Miguel looking as if he was ready to tear both of them limb from limb, such was the blazing fury in his eyes. They both knew it was a miracle that he hadn't abandoned them altogether at the sound of the gunshot.

"You fucking idiots," he hissed at them. "We'll have every German within ten kilometres here soon. We've got only one chance to get over the border and it's right now while they're trying to work out what the hell's going on." He looked away for a few seconds, taking a few deep breaths and clearly trying to control his temper. George realised that only their precarious location was preventing him launching a full-scale tirade of abuse in their direction. When he spoke again his voice was deadly quiet and neither of them was in any doubt that he meant what he said. "If you do anything like that again, _anything_ at all between here and Bilbao… I'll kill you."

George said nothing. She understood his anger, she would have felt the same had she been in his shoes but she also knew with certainty now that there was nothing he could do that would be worse than what had almost happened.

Miguel was right; the sound of the gunshot echoing around the hills created unwanted activity and brought the patrols in the area out. George knew that when they discovered the dead or dying Weber, they would start combing the area in earnest. However, in the immediate aftermath of the shooting it was also evident that there was disorganisation too and a lack of coherence to their search efforts.

For several hours they played what seemed like a deadly game of hide and seek as they sought to keep out of the way of patrols moving around the area. This was interspersed with frantic ascents along narrow mountain paths led by Miguel who kept up a ferocious pace and had no intention of waiting for either of them if they fell behind. Nothing in her training had ever been as tough as this and George felt as if her lungs would explode by the time Miguel finally turned to her and Emile and announced very quietly and without any humour, "Welcome to Spain."

Emile was, if anything, more shattered than George by the time this news was delivered but the fact that they had somehow made it over the border despite the odds couldn't help but bring a smile of relief to his face and he was swiftly joined by George. Miguel watched them, wondering how on earth they had made it considering that they had attracted the attention of every patrol in the area. He shook his head at them knowing that although they had crossed the border they still had a long way to go over difficult terrain and their problems were not over yet.

"This isn't the time to relax. You have a lot of hard work ahead of you. This may be Spain but you can't afford to be caught by the Civil Guard."

Nevertheless, he relented for a few minutes and allowed them to stop for a short rest while he went off to check the path ahead.

In spite of their exhaustion George and Emile struggled to their feet and stood together in silence looking north across the mountains and back into France. Thoughts rushed through George's mind, thoughts of everything that had happened since the Lysander had ferried her into occupied territory so many weeks ago, the people she had met, the ones she had left behind and the struggle to escape in the last few weeks. They had both come so far but it had almost ended in disaster a few hours ago. The realisation of how close they had come to capture almost at the point of liberation because of her actions hit home. For the first time in many weeks she felt on the verge of tears and had to fight hard to stop her voice from shaking.

"Emile, I'm sorry that I put everything at risk earlier. I don't know what I was thinking…"

"I do," he replied at once. "I know that you did it for me."

She looked as though she was about to protest but he reached out, gently cradled her face in his hands and silenced her with a kiss. She tried to smile but every emotion she had attempted to suppress for so long was straining to reach the surface, desperate to find expression and she was afraid that if she started to cry she might never stop. Her response was little more than a whisper, "Whatever the reason, I still owe you, Emile."

He looked into her eyes, "You owe me nothing, George. Have you forgotten? I made you a promise that I'd never let anyone hurt you again and I'm a man of my word."


	15. Chapter 15

**_Thank you all for reading and your kind reviews, I really do appreciate each and every one even if I don't always get around to saying thank you personally. I mentioned at the start of chapter thirteen that the story was drawing to a conclusion and this is the penultimate chapter._**

 **Chapter Fifteen**

 **December 1943**

"Good afternoon, Miss. Nice to see you again."

The smile of welcome from the Commissionaire behind the desk in the lobby was warm and genuine and George realised with surprise that this was no affectation. He really did remember her even though it had been many months since she had first walked through the door into the unassuming apartment block wondering exactly why she had been asked to attend an interview in such a strange location.

"It's nice to be back."

She meant it too even though the three months that had passed since she and Emile had returned from Spain had been more unsettling than she could have imagined. Returning here seemed somehow right and fitting. It was time to find herself some useful activity again and at the back of her mind was the thought of seeing Emile again. They had arranged to meet later in the park and she was longing to spend time with him after an enforced absence of many weeks. There had been phone calls and letters but nothing could take the place of being with him.

"Captain Ferris is expecting you, Miss. Go right on up."

She turned towards the stairs knowing exactly where she was heading and looking forward to hearing what SOE had to offer her.

X-X-X-X

George and Emile had returned to England in the second week of September via the British consulate in Bilbao, swiftly succeeded by the Embassy in Madrid and finally by an RAF flight from Gibraltar.

The British Consulate in Bilbao had detained them for a few of days whilst checking with London to establish their identity. As an official 'Non Belligerent', Spain was awash with foreign agents and intrigue, not least amongst them Germans, and London was understandably cautious about accepting the two new arrivals at face value. However, after Emile and George had supplied sufficient personal details to convince SOE in Baker Street that they were indeed who they claimed to be they were transported to the Embassy in Madrid where an intelligence officer debriefed them, obtaining details of their route through France and how they had escaped across the Pyrénées.

It was in Madrid that Emile had also been given his first proper medical attention since Doctor Lambert had performed rudimentary surgery to remove the bullet from his shoulder at the Moreau's farm a few weeks earlier. The doctor who attended him was of the opinion that although the wound had healed reasonably despite the infection that had laid him low, there had been some muscle and tendon damage and Emile would need further treatment and rehabilitation to improve the mobility of his shoulder and right arm which was still giving him pain and discomfort. It was hardly surprising, the doctor had concluded, that his recovery had been affected given the manner in which he had been forced to recuperate. Embarking on long dangerous journeys with little rest, sleep or food not to mention that final arduous four day trek over the mountains was unlikely to have helped his progress.

Emile had felt every aching step of that fifteen thousand feet climb, had sweated in the sapping heat at the lower levels and shivered in the dank, freezing mists that had soaked them to the skin at the higher altitudes whilst George had trudged on beside him, equally as weary, but without ever uttering a word of complaint. It was fortunate that Emile had been strong and fit before he had been deployed to France as he had needed every ounce of those reserves to get him over that final hurdle to freedom. It was only when he was finally able to let his guard down and accept that he had reached safety that he felt the true bone aching weariness borne not only of his injury but the many months of tension and stress in France and it was not until they reached Madrid that he had finally succumbed to the deep, untroubled sleep of the unburdened and accepted it was over.

When the plane from Gibraltar had touched down in England, George and Emile found a car waiting for them and were promptly whisked away to an old manor house which had been requisitioned for the duration and used as a retreat for returning agents. It was set in substantial grounds, somewhere well away from prying eyes and gave them an opportunity to rest, relax, re-acclimatise and undergo a full debrief which took place over a period of days.

George had been glad of the time and as the debriefing sessions continued she began to realise how much she needed to get her thoughts together. She had already been told that once the debriefing was completed she would be sent on an extended period of leave and the prospect of seeing her family again after so many weeks away in such difficult circumstances was hard to contemplate particularly knowing that she would have to lie about everything she had done. She knew that she needed time to create yet another imaginary world in which she was just Private Lane coming home on leave after manning an ack-ack site in Scotland. She longed to see her family but she was strangely nervous too.

At the end of the first day George had wandered into the lounge at the manor house just before dinner to find it was deserted apart from Emile relaxing on the sofa, his eyes half closed and his legs stretched out in front of him as if he was taking a quick nap before dinner. On their arrival at the manor house they had been provided with their own clothes again and seeing him casually dressed like any Englishman at home after so many weeks in France she couldn't help but stop and stare. Opening his eyes in surprise he looked slightly embarrassed.

"Something wrong?"

"I've never seen you like this before. It looks odd somehow."

He looked her up and down, taking in the unusual sight of her dressed in a brightly printed frock, the like of which he had never seen in France and a cardigan that was not quite a complementary shade of blue but was necessary as there was a chill in the air. She looked tired and the dress also looked loose on her and he realised that the long weeks in France and the last few weeks in particular had taken their toll.

"Well, _you_ look beautiful."

She walked slowly towards him her eyes locked with his as she fought to keep a straight face, "Trust you."

"Trust me, what?"

She shook her head at him, "To lie."

He patted the seat next to him inviting her to join him, "I'm not lying. You are beautiful. Granted the dress might not be the nicest view of you I've ever had…"

He was incorrigible. She started to laugh and he didn't wait any longer but reaching out his left hand to her he caught her fingers in his and pulled her down onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"What if someone comes in?"

"They'll go out again."

He didn't give her time to utter another word as with a sense of immense relief his lips found hers and with it the affirmation that they could really start to think about the future. Only the sound of the dinner gong in the distance brought them back up for air and even then it took some persuasion from George to encourage Emile to get up from the sofa and head for the dining room.

"You need to build up your strength, Emile."

He winked, "I probably do."

"I'm serious, Emile. "

He rose stiffly to his feet, betraying the fact that George was right.

"Pity I haven't got much appetite for whale meat but lead on Doctor Lane. I will follow your orders to the letter."

Much later, long after they had concluded the surprisingly acceptable dinner in the company of some of the SOE officers who worked at the reception centre, they found themselves once again alone, sitting out on the terrace as darkness fell. They sat close together on a bench and George reached for Emile's hand and held it fast.

"Major Brownlee thinks I'll be able to go off on leave in another two days," she whispered." I didn't think I'd ever say this, least of all when I think of those days in prison in Varennes but I'm almost dreading it."

Emile nodded, "It won't be easy being around other people who can't know what you've done and possibly wouldn't understand how you feel even if they did know."

He was right, of course, but even in these luxurious moments of calm and safety she recalled the conversations with her debriefing officers and her thoughts returned inevitably to France.

"Do you think about the others?" she asked without looking at him. "I keep wondering about Jacques, Sebastian and Louis or the sisters in Varennes. I worry that all those people who helped us are still out there in danger and someone might have betrayed them."

Emile wondered whether to impart something he had heard today and was tempted for a moment to keep quiet but he knew he had no right to patronise George. She was his equal and he didn't need to protect her from the truth, however painful.

"Louis was arrested about a week after we left. Brownlee told me. He was a good man. Sorry George."

The news hurt her. She remembered so clearly setting out from Tempsford with Louis thinking how little suited he seemed to the job but he had done his work well and defied the odds, keeping operational far longer than was expected.

"God willing, he still is a good man."

Emile said nothing. There was no need. They both knew Louis's future was at best very uncertain.

It was late and George was tired. She rose from the bench and Emile looked up at her with one questioning raised eyebrow.

"I'm going to bed."

She waited expecting a quip or comment but he merely caught her hand and raising it to his lips, kissed it. There was something sad about the gesture that touched her and she sensed he was low-spirited.

"What no risqué suggestion?"

He shook his head. "Sleep well, you've earned it."

"So have you."

"Have I? When I think of men like Jacques it feels as if I've just abandoned them to fight alone."

Now George understood what was bothering him.

"We had no choice, Emile. The circuit was broken, we were all at risk of arrest and you were injured."

"Oh yes," Emile replied with more than a hint of sarcasm, "My injury. I forgot to mention that they're sending me to see an orthopaedic chap. Apparently the doc in Madrid sent over a report and they're concerned about my arm."

So this was another issue that was playing on his mind. She tried to sound positive.

"Well that's good isn't it?"

He gave her a sidelong glance, "You sound like the Colonel, now. Has he told you to chivvy me along or something?"

She shook her head, "Of course not. I only meant it would be good to get it treated properly."

He gave her a thin smile, "Alright, Doctor Lane. I hear you."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, "Make sure you hear them, Emile."

He nodded and released her hand and she walked away, leaving him to watch the night sky in the company of his own thoughts. She knew that he needed to be alone right now and after so many weeks of putting on an act and playing a role in her every waking moment she knew that she also needed time to reacquaint herself with simply being Georgina Lane.

X-X-X-X

The house looked the same as always, the very image of a respectable home on a quiet suburban street. George had returned here so many times in the past, from school, from work and on other occasions on leave from her ATS postings but this time she was assailed by a mix of emotions that ranged from surprise that it should be unchanged in any way to unashamed nostalgia as if she had been absent for years rather than months. Despite being familiar with every paving stone on the winding path that led to the blue painted front door with the stained glass panels that cast a multi-coloured glow into the hall as the sun rose in the morning, she still hesitated and felt the unnerving urge to check behind her, fearful that someone might be following her. It was difficult to throw off the habits that had become so ingrained in France and she paused and took a deep breath before heading around to the back door of the house, knowing that at this time of day her mother would be in the kitchen preparing the evening meal and expecting her father home from work.

She opened the door and called out, "Mum?"

There was silence and she called again more loudly, "Mum? It's George."

Footsteps hurried along the hall and then her mother was before her, a smile of surprise and delight on her face,

"Oh, come here, my darling, and let me give you a hug,"

Genevieve Lane swept towards George and enveloped her in a tidal wave of love, her arms tightly winding around her daughter, pulling her in close and relishing the fact that she finally had all her family safely back in the fold.

"Aren't they feeding you in Scotland?" she asked a moment later, stepping back a little to survey her daughter.

George smiled, "Well, there is a war on, Mum, and anyway we're very busy all the time."

"Too busy to eat?" The sound of her father's voice behind her in the hall, made George spin around. He had just come through the front door having finished work.

"Dad!" She rushed towards him with her arms outstretched and he embraced her and kissed her cheek before holding her at arms' length and taking a long look at her. "Your mother's right. You look a bit thin and peaky, love. Is it really that busy up in Scotland? I don't remembering hearing much about raids up there."

George tried to keep smiling but she hoped this wasn't going to be a continual line of questioning as it might become wearisome after a while although thankfully her father changed tack as another idea occurred to him.

"It's not some chap is it? Because if some fella's been messing you about, he'll be sorry if I catch up with him."

This time George laughed out loud, "No Dad. It's nothing to do with any chap. I'm just busy that's all. We do a lot of PT and walks and go to dances."

"Well I can't wait to join up, it sounds a lot better than being here," George's youngest sister, Lulu, called as she rushed downstairs. George ran to embrace her, "It sounded like you were having a whale of a time the last time you wrote," Lulu continued. "I'm not surprised we mostly only get postcards. You must be having too much fun to write properly."

"It's not fun all the time," George replied, thinking her sister couldn't have been any further from the truth than she was now. "We do work quite hard too."

"Well, the sooner I can get in uniform the better," Lulu concluded. "It's rotten being seventeen, you know. Everyone treats you like a child."

"Don't be in too much of a hurry," George said with feeling, "Let's hope the war's over soon and then we can all go back to a normal life."

Lulu pulled a face, "Well I ruddy well hope it's not over too soon."

"Lulu!" her mother admonished as much for the use of what she considered coarse language as the sentiment.

George smiled. It was so good to hear her mother scolding her little sister just as it had always been and to hear the spirited Lulu expressing her opinions in her usual forthright manner. She had missed them so much and had to fight to keep the tears from her eyes when she considered how she had almost lost them forever. However, it also brought into very sharp contrast her life here and the one she had left behind only a couple of weeks ago.

She looked around her, "Where's Marie?"

"She'll be back soon," her father informed her. "She's been helping up at the Women's Institute this afternoon. They're sorting out all the donated clothing for the bombed out families."

The news surprised George, "I didn't realise she was so public-spirited."

"Well we all have to do our bit and she's just filling in until the WAAF call her for basic training," her father advised whilst taking off his coat and hanging it up in the hall.

For a moment George was nonplussed, "The WAAF?"

"Aye, don't you remember?" Max said. "She volunteered for the WAAF a couple of months ago. She said she wasn't having anything to do with the Wrens and they only wanted la-di-da toffs anyway and she doesn't think much of your lot. Apparently the uniform's the wrong colour. Sorry, love."

Somewhere in her debriefing George remembered being brought up to date with news that her family had sent her in her absence. She had been given all the letters that had been redirected from Scotland but she hadn't really found the time to read them all thoroughly. They were all in her kit bag and she knew that she ought to acquaint herself with what had been happening in the Lane household but she would need to do so in secret or it might raise unwelcome questions.

"I hope the WAAF knows what's coming their way," she joked.

Max shook his head, "It's funny hearing you say that. I thought the same about you when you joined the ATS but you've done alright for yourself."

She nodded. "Yes, Dad. I've done alright."

"Well, let's not stand around in the hall. Come on through to the back parlour, love. We'll have a cup of tea and you can tell us all about everything. I bet you've got a few stories."

George stood back and let them lead the way. She took a deep breath and tried to get her thoughts in order but all she could hear inside her head was her conscious repeating _if only you knew the half of it._

X-X-X-X

George glanced to her right at the profile of her sister, Marie, illuminated by the bright light from the cinema screen. She was staring ahead, biting her lower lip in anticipation of the next scene, obviously engrossed and enthralled by the exploits of Anna Neagle as a British spy in _The Yellow Canary_ and no doubt on the edge of her seat willing Richard Greene to come to the rescue before the Nova Scotia based Nazi's were able to carry out their deadly plan. Marie had been keen to the see the film and George had had no objections to accompanying her but as much as she knew it was fiction she was finding it difficult to take the story seriously. It was so far removed from her own experiences that she almost laughed in one or two places before thinking sadly how little anyone here could possibly understand what it was like to live under oppression.

When the film reached its happy conclusion and the lights came up Marie turned to George with a smile on her face.

"That was great, wasn't it. Oh gosh, I wouldn't mind Richard Greene looking out for me."

George shrugged, "It was alright."

"Only alright?" Marie's voice rose an octave in complete astonishment at her sister's review.

George joined Marie in scrambling to her feet as other members of the audience started to make their way out of the cinema and showed signs of wanting to push past them.

"I just meant it's a bit far-fetched."

They stepped out into the aisle and started to make their way through the crush of bodies towards the exit.

"Hark at you the expert!" Marie scoffed.

George waited until they were outside before responding, "I did enjoy it, Marie. I just don't think that's what it would really be like."

Marie pulled a face, "Well, we'll never know, so it doesn't really matter does it?"

"No, I suppose not."

George realised there was little point in arguing with her sister when she was in this kind of mood. Their relationship had sometimes been tense. George knew it was awkward for Marie being the middle sister. George had always been the one to forge ahead and do everything first and had attracted her parents' interest and praise, Lulu was the baby of the family, spirited and opinionated but somehow indulged because she was the youngest but Marie had lived in that difficult middle ground where nothing she did was ever considered unusual and she was expected to learn from her eldest sister's example whilst not upsetting the youngest. George knew Marie was potentially spoiling for a fight and felt it safer to change the subject.

"Are you ready for the WAAF?"

"I suppose so. Were you ready for the ATS?"

George tried to remember how she had felt more than two years ago on leaving home and mixing with women who had come from all over the country and all walks of life. It had been a steep learning curve but it seemed like a lifetime ago when she considered all that had happened in the past few months.

"Yes, I think so. I enjoyed it."

"That sounds like you don't enjoy it anymore," Marie said picking up on the past tense.

"I was thinking of what it was like at the start that's all. It's just different now."

"In what way?" Marie persisted. "Mum was always reading out those postcards of yours. You sounded like you were having a wonderful time. I don't know why you're complaining."

"I'm not complaining," George replied beginning to feel exasperated by her sister's questions. " I've just found it different recently."

They walked on in silence for a minute or two before Marie remarked, "You've changed, George. You seem fed up with everything, like the film just now. You used to love going to the pictures, seeing all the new films and talking about it afterwards but it's like you just don't care about any of that stuff anymore."

"I do, Marie. Just because I didn't think much of Anna Neagle or Richard Greene doesn't mean I've changed."

"It's not just that," Marie replied, "You've been really quiet since you came home. You wrote all that stuff you were doing up in Scotland but you've hardly said anything about it since you got back. You just seem like a different person."

George was glad it was dark because her sister couldn't have hit the nail on the head more accurately if she had tried. There was no escaping the fact that George had changed more than she could ever have imagined. She couldn't just sweep aside her experiences but she couldn't talk about them either and after more than two weeks at home she knew she was desperate to be able to talk freely to someone who would understand. Everything that had happened before France seemed irrelevant. Her work in the ATS had been important but she had been living on her wits, her instinct and her nerves for several months and nothing could compare with that feeling of living on the very edge of life. It was hardly surprising that she found it difficult to be interested in a film that was far removed from reality, her father's struggles with meat rationing, Lulu's exasperation at being caught in that awkward stage between childhood and adulthood or Marie's impatience to join the WAAF. At this moment she realised how much she longed to see Emile. At least with him she didn't have to pretend; he understood everything.

They were nearing home and George had no wish to continue this conversation in front of her parents and sought to close down the subject.

"I expect I have changed a bit, Marie. It's the war and you'll change too when you join up, wait and see."

She pushed open the garden gate and they made their way in the pitch darkness of the blackout up the familiar path and round to the back of the house. George opened the back door and stepped into the parlour. Her parents were sitting at the table, listening to a dance band on the wireless. Her mother was knitting using some wool she had salvaged from an old jumper which Lulu had outgrown and Max was polishing shoes and humming along to the tune. They both looked up as their two older daughters came in.

"Did you enjoy the film?" Genevieve asked with a smile.

Marie immediately launched into a detailed retelling of the story with much embellishment, chiefly related to the actions, expressions and dialogue of Richard Greene. Max caught George's eye. "What did you think?"

Marie broke away from her description and butted in, "Oh, George didn't like it. She thought it was far-fetched."

George shook her head, "It just wasn't my favourite, that's all." She had no desire to start the conversation all over again, "I'm going to bed." She bent to kiss her father and mother in turn, "Goodnight."

She headed upstairs without delay but couldn't help overhearing Marie's final remark, "There's something up with her. I reckon something happened in Scotland."

X-X-X-X

The bus from Grantley station deposited George at the gates of the RAF hospital in what seemed to her like the wilds of East Anglia. It had been a long journey from Manchester by train, with plenty of stops and starts along the way that reminded her of some of the difficult journeys she and Emile had endured in France but at least without the element of danger. She wished Emile hadn't been sent to the RAF hospital for the operation on his damaged shoulder but it seemed that they preferred to treat their own. Despite having worked in SOE he was considered to be a serving RAF officer and it was therefore deemed appropriate that he was treated in an RAF hospital. It was also an unfortunate fact that some of the most skilled orthopaedic surgeons were to be found in hospitals treating the steady supply of patients requiring complex surgery on combat injuries and he was considered to be yet another.

Emile had written to George about his operation. She had opened the letter at the breakfast table and after reading the contents informed her parents that she would be leaving early the next morning and wouldn't be back until late.

"Where are you going, George?" Lulu had asked through a mouthful of toast much to her mother's annoyance.

"To see a friend who's in hospital."

Max lowered the newspaper he was reading.

"Who's the friend?"

She had shaken her head, "No one you know, Dad"

"That's not what I asked," he replied, "but you're saying it's going to take all day?"

"It's a long way from here. You know what the trains are like."

George saw her mother and father exchange looks and her mother commented, "Well, it's kind of you to visit them, George. I'm sure they'll appreciate it. You can take some of the roses from the garden, if you like. It's getting late in the season but there are still some in bloom."

George shook her head, "Thank you but I don't think so."

She folded up her letter and stuffed it back into the envelope before rising from the table and starting to clear the dishes away intending to get on with the washing up but as she turned away she heard her mother whisper across the table to her father, "It's a man!"

As she pushed open the door of the ward, George was certainly glad she hadn't turned up with a bunch of roses. She could imagine the look Emile would have given her had she presented him with a posy of pink blooms. It was a long ward lined with metal beds on either side and almost all were full. Some of the men were sitting up in bed reading newspapers or paperback novels. A few were in dressing gowns and playing cards together at a table. Others were lying flat on their backs strapped up in traction or with blanket tents over injuries to lower limbs. The lucky ones had visitors with them as it was mid-afternoon and visiting time. As she walked down the ward looking for Emile, George felt more than a few pairs of eyes upon her and heard a few entreaties not to go any further as she would be wasting her time but apart from smiling once or twice in the direction of the voice she carried on walking knowing there was only one person she wanted to waste her time with.

Emile was sitting up in bed, dressed in RAF regulation blue pyjamas, with his right arm in a sling. He looked tired and as she gazed at him she wondered if he was in pain but the moment he caught sight of her approaching his face broke into a broad grin and as she drew near he said, "You're a sight for sore eyes, George, and mine are particularly painful given the view in here."

She moved closer to the bed and sat on the chair at the side, "How are you feeling?"

He sighed, "A lot better than the last time my shoulder was in this state."

She smiled, "It must be the morphine."

"Or maybe the company and the knowledge that no one's trying to kill me this time."

George looked around her at all the beds occupied mostly it seemed by injured aircrew.

"What's it like in here?"

He pulled a face, "Alright as military hospitals go. The Matron's a dragon, the Sister's a stickler for the rules but Nurse Frazer's a dear." George could imagine Emile giving some pretty young nurse a flash of his smile and sending her heart all aflutter but she passed no comment and he continued, "The conversation's a bit sticky sometimes when they ask where I'm based or what I think of the Wellington versus the Lancaster but I get by. Actually, I ran into an old friend last week, Charlie James. He got badly shot up on a raid over Krefeld and crash landed up at RAF Milton. His leg's in a bad way but by the sounds of it he's lucky to be alive."

George remembered the name, "Well it's nice you've got someone to talk to. Does he know about…" she left it unsaid and Emile shook his head.

"No, but he's been transferred now anyway. His mother pulled strings and got him sent to a rehabilitation hospital near Bath. He didn't seem very pleased about it for some reason. I think there's a girl involved somewhere."

George smiled, "There usually is with you lot, isn't there."

He grinned, that easy boyish, cheeky grin that had once infuriated her but which she now loved.

"Thank god there is."

He reached out his left hand to her, grasped her hand in his and pulled her towards him. He kissed her not caring who was watching and George heard the round of cheers in the ward that accompanied it. They broke apart and she found herself blushing at the attention. It amused Emile. He lowered his voice so that only she could hear him.

"I can't believe a woman who told an Abwehr officer pointing a gun at her that he was not a gentleman, could be embarrassed by a kiss."

He had a point but she merely replied, "There's a time and place for everything."

"Talking of which," he responded, "What have you they got lined up for you after your leave. Any ideas?"

George shrugged. There had been no specific long-term plans mooted about what would happen next but Miss Watkins, the SOE officer who kept in regular contact with her, had suggested that George could be a useful addition to some of their training courses and they could look at employment possibilities afterwards.

"They're sending me on some courses for a few weeks."

Emile frowned, "What sort of courses?"

"I don't know exactly."

Emile was concerned but he made light of it, "I shouldn't think there's much they can teach you. Perhaps you should be running the course."

She nodded, "Perhaps that's why they want me. I think they might want me to talk about being…" she paused conscious of her surroundings, "about my experience and give the trainees some background. I need to do something, Emile. My family are beginning to wonder when I'm going back to Scotland. I can't stay at home much longer."

She knew it was quite possible given her recent experiences that she might be asked to give advice to others on the agents' training courses and it would be useful work that could help others avoid the dangerous pitfalls. However, she didn't want to dwell on something that seemed to be a cause of concern to Emile and changed the subject.

"Did the doctor give you any idea how long your recovery will take?"

Emile raised his left hand in a non-committal gesture, "I'll have to go to a medical board in about six weeks but the doc seems confident everything should be fine."

George nodded, "You see, I told you to listen, didn't I?"

He gave her a long look, "And somehow you're always right, Doctor Lane."

X-X-X-X

The late afternoon sunshine had the golden hue of winter and there was a distinct chill in the air. George strolled through the park lost in thought, too preoccupied to even notice the calls and whistles of a couple of GI's passing her by and keen to make her acquaintance. They had spotted the attractive young woman in an ATS uniform some distance away and had been laying bets on which one of them would be successful in winning a date. They were sorely disappointed to find that not only were they unsuccessful but she failed to even look in their direction forcing them to swiftly form the opinion that she was one of those English ice maidens who refused to have anything to do with their allies. Had they known her thoughts they might have forgiven her lack of attentiveness. She had much to consider and it concerned far more than just her choice of company for the evening.

Emile was sitting on a bench near the lake, his left arm resting along the back, the picture of relaxation as he stared out across the water, engaged in observing the ducks diving below the surface on a strenuous quest for food. George slowed as she approached caught by the sight of him in his RAF officer's uniform, his cap pushed at an angle on the back of his head, looking just as he had more than two years ago when she had first met him. He looked content and she had the unusual urge to stop, stay just where she was and not encroach on this moment, just let him be for a short while longer.

He sensed she was approaching. After months of covert work he had a well-honed sixth sense for such activity. He had been back in England for three months but he still couldn't truly relax especially in places like these which had once been chosen rendezvous locations. He turned his head and relief washed over him. She looked as beautiful as ever. Not even the unflattering cut of her uniform in drab khaki could detract from her loveliness and he automatically smiled at the sight of her. She returned the smile but he knew at once that she was troubled.

Emile rose from the bench and took a few steps towards George, anxious at the wariness he had detected but still keen to eliminate the distance between them as soon as possible and no sooner did she reach him then he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. She reached up touch his face.

"I've missed you."

"Not as much as I've missed you."

He left in her no doubt of how much the weeks since their last meeting at the hospital had dragged and had the two wandering GI's seen her at that moment they might have changed their opinion of her 'ice maiden' status and thought themselves very unlucky indeed.

Breaking away for a moment, he looked down at her with a cheeky glint in his eye that she knew so well but had not seen for so long.

"What do you say to some dinner, some dancing and …."

He left the rest unsaid but she caught his drift, "What kind of girl do you think I am, Flight Lieutenant Harte?"

He chuckled, "Oh, George, after everything we've been through, I know exactly what kind of girl you are."

She pretended to look outraged and he laughed, "But in spite of all that I'm still willing to take my life in my hands." He moved in closer, "Wouldn't have it any other way."

She kissed him and once again he saw something in the expression in her eyes that concerned him. Something was worrying her.

"Come on. I know you. What's wrong?"

She shook her head and took a step back, "Nothing. Let's sit down for a moment."

He didn't believe her but he let it go.

They moved to the bench and sat close together looking out across the water of the lake and George asked him, "How did the Medical Board go?"

The news that Emile had been asked to attend a medical board in London had coincided with both of them being requested to present themselves for interview in Baker Street again. George's involvement with the agents' courses had come to an end and both she and Emile were looking for new roles. The long period of inactivity had been difficult for Emile and George knew he was itching to do something he considered useful again. The medical board had taken place that morning and there had been no opportunity for them to speak until now.

Emile shrugged in response to her enquiry, "Not the way I'd have liked."

She sensed he was annoyed but trying to hide it.

"What did they say about your shoulder?"

She had noticed that despite a great improvement since their return from France he still seemed to be suffering from some stiffness of movement. He had held her close just now but still the right arm seemed less mobile and she knew she had definitely been in a position to judge.

"They don't think I'm fit for active service at the moment."

He sounded matter of fact but she could tell it sat uncomfortably with him after everything he had done for all those months in France. He smiled at her, "However, they want me at the Finishing School as an instructor, starting next week, so I'm not quite on the scrap heap."

"No one in their right mind would ever put you on the scrap heap, Emile. They need people like you."

He looked at her, "Don't you mean, people like us?"

She didn't answer and a small knot of anxiety started to form in his gut. There was something she wasn't telling him and now he began to sense what was coming but tried to joke, "What delights have they lined up for you then, George? A cosy desk in Baker Street somewhere? They owe you that at least."

She hesitated before answering, "They offered me one."

He could see it plainly written in her face now and his heart was heavy.

"But you didn't accept it. Did you?"

Once again she was silent and he shook his head feeling anger rise, "Did they put pressure on you to go back into the field?"

This time she looked him squarely in the face, "You know it doesn't work like that. No one would ever do that."

He nodded not bothering to hide his exasperation, "Should have guessed. You volunteered didn't you?"

George had known the moment she asked Captain Ferris whether they had any roles for someone like her that she would inevitably end up volunteering to return. She knew that it was only a matter of time before the allies would launch the invasion of France. It wasn't necessary to be a military expert to know that the hundreds of thousands of soldiers encamped across southern England and the amassing of weapons, tanks and supplies were all part of a future invasion plan. Captain Ferris had admitted as much when he informed her that they were sending more explosives and sabotage experts and instructors into occupied France but that an experienced courier would be worth her weight in gold as there was a need to co-ordinate groups. The Captain had nevertheless couched his words carefully.

"Naturally, the choice is entirely yours. You've already made an outstanding contribution and there is no expectation or obligation upon you but if you wanted to return you'd be very useful."

George knew that it was time to confess what had been troubling her, "Yes, I volunteered. They need me."

Emile bit back the overwhelming urge to say 'I need you'. In spite of how much he loved her, he couldn't help seeing the irony of the situation. How many times had a man put his duty before the woman he loved and here she was doing just the same. The difference was that she didn't have to do this and it hurt him more than he wanted to admit. The knowledge that she would contemplate putting herself back into that dangerous arena again was like a physical stab of pain to him, pain mixed with something else that he knew was envy. Perhaps it was this that made him lash out somewhat unfairly, "You've done your bit. It's someone else's turn."

He was sorry at once when he saw her throw him a look of disappointment.

"I thought you were better than that, Emile."

He nodded, "So did I but I love you, George, and I can't pretend this is easy."

Her expression softened, "I know. I love you too and I didn't come to this decision easily." She reached for his hand. "I told you once before that I didn't join SOE to be safe. I joined because there's a job I can do and I need to do it. Can't you understand that?"

He turned his head away from her and stared out across the water of the lake, trying to gather his thoughts. He let out a long breath. Of course he understood. Had he been fit he knew he would have wrestled with the possibility of returning to France just as she must have done. They were kindred spirits, neither of them suited to inactivity and unlikely to rest in any one place for long. She had asked him once before to let her be the person she was and he had given way knowing he had no right to deny her that but now frustrated by his own ability to share the burden of duty he felt helpless. She was quiet and he knew that had no choice but to accept the situation or drive a wedge between them. He reached out his left arm and pulled her close to him resigned to the fact that she would go no matter what he said and chances were it would be soon.

"How long?"

She shrugged, "Two or three weeks maybe, they'll let me know."

It was worse than he had hoped but he forced himself to rally his spirits. He didn't want to say or do anything else to ruin their time together, "Better make most of now, then. Do you still fancy the dinner and dancing?"

She knew he was hurting but putting on a brave face and a smile hovered at the corners of her mouth, "Depends on whether the _'and'_ is still on offer."

In spite of everything, he couldn't help smirking, "You'll have to wait and see."

She leaned towards him and kissed him gently, "Surprise me then."

X-X-X-X

The cold grey light of dawn stole through the open curtains, casting its harshness across the bed and the sleeping form of George, the sheet contoured around her body as she lay lost in her dreams and oblivious to the fact that she was being watched.

Emile sat in an armchair by the window. Sleep had eluded him and not for the first time in the last three months. He had hoped that if anything could banish the troubled thoughts that plagued him at night it would have been the soothing presence of George in his arms but the dinner and dancing had been punctuated with a false, forced air of good humour that was completely at odds with the way either George or Emile really felt. They were both trying too hard to keep each other's spirits up and it had the reverse effect. It was only when they had finally reached the privacy of the hotel room that had inevitably been the _'and'_ of Emile's suggestion that he had given in to the feelings he had been holding at bay, "Let's not pretend anymore, George."

They had made love with the poignant tenderness of two people knowing they would soon part and Emile was unconsciously committing each emotion and sensation to memory afraid that it might be all he would have to sustain him through a lifetime. Later as they had lain still and quiet in each other's arms he had fleetingly wished that he didn't love her. All of this might have been bearable if she had just been some other woman; one with less character, less integrity and an ambivalent attitude to duty, in short, anyone but George. Watching her from the bedroom chair as she slept he felt only anger. He was angry at himself, angry at the war and if he was completely honest he was angry at George for simply being the person she was.

She stirred and opened her eyes, catching sight of him framed against the light from the window.

"What time is it?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"Very early."

She could tell he had been awake a long time and with an effort she raised her head from the pillow.

"What's the matter?"

"Do you need to ask?"

"That's not an answer."

He moved across to the bed and sat down beside her, "No, it's not but you don't want the answer."

He lay down next to her, reached out his hand and gently pushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes.

"It's too late for talking."

He wrapped his left arm around her and pulled her close breathing in her scent and wanting to capture this moment and never let her go but he knew that he couldn't escape the truth.

"We've already said goodbye."

X-X-X-X

It was a cold, clear night in early January. The stars shone brightly in the dark sky and George knew there would be a heavy frost in the morning, not that she would be here to witness it.

She walked towards the waiting Lysander, a lone figure carrying a case. A sudden gust of wind swept across the tarmac, causing her coat to flap out like a pair of wings behind her. She instinctively turned her face to the side. Behind her she glimpsed the dark outline of the hangar with the SOE officer who had accompanied her today, Miss Watkins, standing before it waiting to wave her off, just as she had done so many times before to so many agents.

George thought briefly of Emile and wondered where he might be and what he might be doing. She hadn't spoken to him again after their night together in London. They both had work to do and she knew that they needed to retreat into their own separate worlds again. He loved her but she feared he might never forgive her for making this decision.

She raised a hand in farewell and Miss Watkins responded. George turned back towards the Lysander and felt her pulse quicken in anticipation of what would soon follow. She strode out towards the aeroplane with a sudden renewed sense of purpose and the conviction that if she hadn't made this decision she would never have forgiven herself.


	16. Chapter 16

**_This is the final chapter of the story and it has turned out to be a very long one, so make yourself comfortable! Thank you for all your lovely reviews and for taking the time to read this story. I'm sorry if Chapter Fifteen didn't end quite as you might have expected but I thought it was important to show that women like George did make difficult decisions, leaving loved ones behind, including their own children, in order to do the job that they felt uniquely equipped to do and, as we know, some of them made the ultimate sacrifice. I also wanted to keep the character of George as close to the original 'Georgie' as I could and she certainly believed that she had an important job to do. However, the chapter that follows is the one that I always intended to conclude with and so, on this occasion, there is just a little more of George and Emile's story to tell…_**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 **August 1944**

Emile placed the report back in the foolscap folder and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost six and he knew he might as well head home. He had been struggling to keep his attention on the job all afternoon but pen-pushing behind a desk in Baker Street was not something that sat well with his temperament. He could imagine a few people who would have found the idea of him working in an office hilarious but he tried to keep such thoughts at bay and content himself with the knowledge that he was making a contribution to the war effort in the best way he could, even if it tried his patience.

The last three months had been a trial of his patience on so many levels. When headquarters had announced a scaling down of agents' training and he had been told that he would no longer be required to work as an instructor at the Finishing School he had realised that it signalled the beginning of the end. Any hopes he might have entertained of returning to France as an agent had rapidly disappeared. Once the invasion of France had begun in June he had known it was only a matter of time before they would all be out of a job as the need to send agents into occupied countries would evaporate with the advance of the allies in Europe. However, he had been offered a desk job at F-Section in London and had accepted it as he was reluctant to leave the outfit while he still felt he had something to give. He had other good reasons for staying with SOE and remaining close to the heart of the action but he hadn't admitted them to anyone here and there were times that he even denied them to himself. However, if the past month had been anything to judge by then he had begun to think he had entirely wasted his time.

He cleared his desk and put the files into his out tray for the section secretary, Miss Stephens, to deal with tomorrow. He was just preparing to leave when Phillip Bailey, a fellow F-Section officer, appeared in the doorway.

"Just leaving Harte?"

Emile nodded, "As you see."

"A few of us are heading out for some drinks and there's a dance band at the Carlton, if you feel like joining us."

Emile had turned down several offers of this kind in the last few weeks and as much as he had little desire to prop up the bar yet again and listen to his colleagues chatting up a variety of young women, the thought of returning to his rather austere flat filled him with little enthusiasm.

"Alright, I'll meet you downstairs."

"Rightho. I'll just go and rustle up the rest of the troops."

Emile let him go about his business. Bailey was a social animal and never happier than with a large group around him. It was no surprise he'd been turned down for work in the field as he would never have coped with the solitude. However, he had skills that F-Section had harnessed and was well-liked. The only problem was that girls also flocked to him like a magnet and the last time Emile had been out in company with him a rather brassy blonde by the name of Daphne had detached from the group around Bailey and stuck to him like a limpet all evening. In the dim distant past he might not have minded but he had little appetite for playing the field anymore and Bailey, for all his socialising, had noticed and questioned it the following morning.

"What's up with you, old man? Daphne took a real shine to you and you couldn't have looked less interested if you'd tried."

Emile had shrugged, "I'm just not in the mood at the moment."

Bailey had leaned over his desk and said in an undertone, "Anything to do with a certain person who's overseas?"

Emile was taken aback by the remark. He had no idea that his past relationship with George was apparently known by anyone within F-Section and he had no intention of discussing it with Bailey.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Bailey had raised his eyebrows suggesting he didn't believe him but not pressed the point and Emile had been left to contemplate the remark.

Emile knew that being closer to the nerve centre of F-Section operations where he could hope to gain some news of George's situation had certainly been an inducement in accepting the job in Baker Street but the information when it did filter through to him was often very scant and out of date. He had a vague idea that she was working as a courier between two sections in north eastern France and knew only there had been nothing in any wireless traffic to suggest that she had been arrested. Beyond that he was completely in the dark and he had learned to live with it; he hated it but he had no choice. He knew well enough that everything was run very much on a need to know basis and as far as his superiors were concerned he didn't need to know anything. He had found excuses from time to time to ask specific questions about activities in George's section in the hope of gleaning some news. He supposed it was this that had caused Bailey to prick up his ears and put two and two together. It wouldn't have been difficult to find out that she and Emile had worked closely together and made their escape together last year. He wasn't the first agent to have become emotionally attached in the field but he and George hadn't made a song and dance of the situation and he didn't like the idea that it was being talked about, not that there was anything much to talk about and certainly not if the past few weeks were anything to judge by.

The news had come through a month ago that George was returning. The allies had overrun her area and now her work was done. She was among a growing number of surviving field agents to be recalled and F-section activities were being scaled back. Emile had felt a tremendous sense of relief to know that she was safe and coming home but this feeling was quickly succeeded by a huge sense of uncertainty. George had been in France for more than six months and he knew very well the strain that such a long deployment could create. She would have been better prepared for what lay ahead the second time but even so he knew she was probably exhausted and needed time to adjust. He desperately wanted to make contact with her but he had no idea how the land lay between them now and he didn't want to go blundering in and making life any more difficult. He thought about it long and hard before finally having a word with Miss Watkins. He'd managed to catch her as she was leaving her office and casually mentioned that he'd heard George had returned. Miss Watkins had given him one of her small tight smiles that implied she knew there was more to his remark than met the eye.

Emile had cleared his throat, "I was wondering if you were likely to be going to the Reception Centre this week?"

"It is my normal routine, as you well know, Flight Lieutenant Harte."

Her expression was neutral and it seemed to Emile that she certainly had no intention of making this easy for him so he risked one of his wide boyish smiles on her and saw at once that it had no effect. He felt himself starting to flounder and decided that honesty or at least partial honesty might be the best policy.

"Could you pass on my telephone number here to her? It would be good to catch up after all this time as we're old friends and colleagues…"

Miss Watkins was raising her hand to him, clearly intent on stopping him before he said any more and he was certain she was going to give him some nonsense about security and not passing on any information to or from returning agents but, to his surprise, she lowered her voice, "I think you know that you shouldn't be asking me to do this and certainly not whilst standing around here in the corridor. However, I know you went through a lot together and she might want someone to talk to who understands. I'll allow it just this once, Emile, but don't mention it to anyone."

He nodded, "Thank you."

Miss Watkins had walked away and he was left surprised that she had agreed to his request and pleased that it had been easier than he had expected. However, several weeks had passed since their conversation and George still hadn't called him. At first he had thought that she might have misgivings about him and the past. It was natural to think that way, after all, he hadn't been able to hide the fact that he didn't want her to return to France. He could see that her feelings might have changed towards him with the time and distance between them. However, as the weeks passed he began to have other less selfish thoughts and worried that there was more to Miss Watkins words than he had initially suspected. She had implied that George might be in need of an experienced and sympathetic ear. He was more than happy to be that person but this idea raised other concerns. They had been living entirely separate lives in completely different circumstances for months and Emile was deeply uncertain as to what the future held for them, if anything. The only fact that he could cling to was that no matter what had happened since they had parted on that cold grey December morning eight months ago he was sure of one thing; he still loved her.

X-X-X-X

The train was late. George had lost count of the number of times she had been delayed on overcrowded trains in the last year or the number of hours she had wasted on such journeys. Departures and arrivals had been a major feature of her day to day existence for so long and her fellow passengers had mostly consisted of the same types: commercial travellers, stressed housewives with bored children, grumpy middle-aged men, over-dressed young women and, inevitably, soldiers. The only difference today was the colour of the uniforms. The wall-to-wall grey had been replaced by khaki, navy and airforce blue and these men did not have to endure the barely disguised loathing of their travel companions. These men, no matter from which part of the world they hailed, were welcome.

An RAF Squadron Leader, sporting impressive handlebar moustaches, a supreme air of self-confidence and shoulder flashes declaring he was South African, had been trying to persuade George for the last half an hour that she would be mad to turn down the offer of dinner with him after she had made the fatal mistake of admitting she was heading to London. She had been polite but firm in her rejection and eventually he had settled for telling her, "You don't know what you're missing," before taking up a newspaper in a mildly disgruntled manner no doubt hoping to while away the time and cover his embarrassment at his lack of success.

George had looked out of the window as the train very slowly chugged along at what seemed like a snail's pace. She tried to keep a clear mind and focus on what lay ahead but found herself fighting so many thoughts not least of which was the uncomfortable memory of another train journey during which she had endured the unwelcome attention of Major Weber. That occasion had been akin to a slow torture as she had desperately tried to think of a way to escape his company. She remembered briefly the suspicious manner in which she had been greeted by Jacques and Emile when she had finally reached the farmhouse at La Chapelle. This was a very different journey with a very different purpose but she was nevertheless wondering how she would be received.

She had returned from France four weeks ago once the allied advance had reached and overrun her area. As the allies had pushed ever nearer, she and her comrades had moved increasingly out into the open, fighting their battles like a guerrilla army now that it was obvious the Germans were in retreat. Most of George's time in the months before D-Day had been engaged in helping to organise and co-ordinate groups being trained to carry out sabotage work in readiness for the invasion for which they had all been longing. When the news came from London that D-Day was finally underway and signals were received they had embarked on a long period of harrying the enemy, causing distractions, sabotaging road and rail links, in short putting out of action anything that might help the Germans. She had been living from day to day with a rifle at her side and had seen so many acts of courage and self-sacrifice that she was truly humbled. As soon as the first American troops had reached her area she was summoned back to London and had returned once again to the Reception Centre. It was when she had reached the quiet and safety of the remote country retreat that she had suddenly been overcome with utter exhaustion and the overwhelming feeling that there was nothing for her to do.

The first time she and Emile had returned from France she had found the adjustment difficult but there had also been relief at being safe and having returned but this time had been different. Her strain and tiredness, borne of an extended period in the field combined with the last few weeks of intense, dangerous activity, had turned into something more. The doctor who had examined her had referred to it as something akin to battle fatigue. She had lain in bed for three days, mostly sleeping or simply contemplating the walls around her in silence, disinclined to talk to anyone but she had been allowed to do so without anyone trying to 'chivvy' her along, as Emile had once called it. On the fourth day Miss Watkins had arrived. She had knocked softly at the door and hearing only the faintest response had risked entering. George had been sitting on the bed, still dressed in her nightclothes even though it was almost lunch time.

"May I come in?"

George had nodded and Miss Watkins had walked into the room and sat down opposite her.

"How are you Georgina?"

Her eyes had flicked in Miss Watkins direction. Even her own family seldom referred to her by her full name and she found it strange. It was even stranger to be addressed by her real name after being known only as Hélène for so many months and it almost grated on her.

"I'm tired."

If Miss Watkins found her reply to be curt to the point of rudeness it certainly didn't show in her expression or response. "That's only to be expected. You've been in the field for a long time."

George didn't know whether a reply was required so she remained silent. Miss Watkins looked around the room, "You could probably do with a change of scene…it might help."

It was only her fatigue that prevented George from advising Miss Watkins in no uncertain terms that a different view from the window was hardly likely to help her come to terms with the continual stress, danger and bone-aching weariness that seven months of covert activity had created followed by this odd, eerie vacuum.

Miss Watkins got to her feet, "Why don't you get dressed and come down for some lunch. You don't need to talk to anyone if you don't want to."

George turned to look at her, "That's just it. I'm too tired to talk."

Again Miss Watkins nodded, "I understand but it will help to do something, even if it's just as simple as eating your lunch."

George looked unconvinced. Miss Watkins lowered her voice and George heard a softer, more sympathetic tone, "You're not the first agent to find this very difficult. You've been away a long time, probably too long and mentally you've travelled a very long road but it's time to think about returning and that involves taking small steps even ones as simple as getting dressed and eating your lunch."

She headed for the door but paused with her hand on the door knob.

"Oh, there's something else. I was asked to give you this." She reached into her pocket and drew out a small folded note. She crossed to George and offered her the paper.

"It's from a friend. You might like to talk."

George took the note without looking at it and Miss Watkins returned to the door.

"I'll see you downstairs, Georgina, when you're ready."

George listened to the sound of her footsteps disappearing along the corridor and then heading down the ancient creaking staircase. She had no doubt that Miss Watkins would be waiting in the Dining Room for her. She let out a long breath and gazed up at the ceiling. There had been ample time to study it for the past three days and she doubted there was any inch of it that hadn't received her attention at some point. Miss Watkins might be right that a change of scene would be better for her but she wondered if she would ever be ready to talk.

The note was still in her hand and she unfolded the paper. Emile's name and telephone number stared back at her, yet another stark reminder of the world she had left behind. She shook her head as she thought of Miss Watkins words to her just now; if attending lunch was a small step then contacting Emile was a giant leap.

She had kept that piece of paper with Emile's number upon it, tucked away for safekeeping in a pocket notebook and had told herself she would think about it later when she was feeling more like her old self. However, the days had passed and still she felt caught between the life she had left behind in France and the one here that she barely recognised. She went through the motions of debriefing sessions with F-Section officers but felt a sense of detachment from the proceedings. She knew what they wanted to hear and she passed on the information but without any sense of unburdening. It seemed as if all they wanted was intelligence and it didn't matter how she felt because she knew that they didn't need her anymore. Her job was done.

George knew that she ought to go home and see her parents. She had read all the letters from her family that had been passed to her and could sense that they were hurt that she hadn't managed to find any time to see them in more than six months. However, in their innocence, they had blamed her absence on the ATS being unfair and not giving her a long enough leave to travel to Manchester. She remembered her last visit home after the escape from France with Emile and she didn't relish returning too quickly, particularly when she felt so out of sorts and unable to cope with the barrage of questions that would undoubtedly follow a return after such a long absence.

She had stayed at the Reception Centre for two weeks until it had been politely suggested that she ought to consider venturing further afield beyond the confines of the manor house. She had been at a loss as to what to do or where to go until Miss Watkins had mentioned that she had a friend in Oxfordshire who took short-term lodgers and might be able to accommodate George for a week or so if she felt she needed more time before facing her family. George had accepted the offer seeing it as a half-way house and somewhere that would allow her a little more time to get her thoughts together in peace and quiet amongst people who didn't know her.

The weather had been very fair and George had taken the opportunity to go for long walks. She needed and embraced the solitude of the woods and countryside and it was on one of these long walks that she finally came to the conclusion that it was wrong to stay away from her family. They weren't responsible for the choice she had made and although they didn't know it she was punishing them by staying away when it was obvious from their letters that they were desperate to see her again. The next day she had sent a telegram advising them she had four days leave and would be home in the morning. She hadn't dared to suggest it would be longer, having no idea how she would stand up to the questions and the scrutiny.

Returning home for a few days had its share of tense moments for George but the absence of Marie, who was now working as a W/T operator on an RAF station in Lincolnshire, had made the visit slightly less stressful. Her sister's ability to pick up on the changes in George's demeanour the last time she had been home had made her very uncomfortable. Marie seemed to know her better than any of them even if she hadn't learned to keep her opinions to herself. George could certainly do without Marie's prying eyes, particularly this time. She had managed to keep up the pretence for a few days and was grateful that she had restricted the duration of the visit. Her parents frequent comments about Marie's diligence at letter writing in comparison with her own and suggestions that George ought to apply for another posting began to wear on her. In response she trotted out the usual excuses and cited a list of activities that she had been busy with but without sounding very enthusiastic and it was on the last morning of her leave that her mother had gently reasserted her view that George ought to consider change of scene.

"We've hardly seen you in the last year, George, and to be honest, you haven't seemed yourself at all not since you've been in Scotland. We were all so pleased that you were coming home but it worries me that you don't seem very happy."

George had said nothing, not wishing to engage in the conversation and assuming that her mother would drop the subject if she didn't offer anything in return but her mother pressed on. "Marie thinks it's something to do with a man. Is it something like that, dear?"

Even though she wasn't here in person Marie was still interfering and George was irritated. "It's nothing to do with a man, mum. I don't know why she'd say that."

"Well, you did rush off to visit someone in hospital the last time you were here and you wouldn't tell us anything about it."

George felt her patience snap, "Because there was nothing to tell you. I really haven't had my heart broken or anything stupid like that, so you can stop mithering on about it." Her voice had risen in volume and tone and she could tell at once from the startled expression in her mother's eyes that she had gone too far.

"I'm sorry," she reached out to grasp her mother's hand, "I think you're probably right, I've been in Scotland too long. I'll try to get a new posting."

Genevieve squeezed George's hand, "That's what you need, my darling, a fresh start."

George thought ironically that she had no choice in the matter but if it pleased her mother to think she had persuaded her then so be it.

In all this time she was still conscious of the piece of paper sitting in her notebook, just a small insignificant scrap with Emile's number upon. She had taken it out a few times, just to look at it and gazed at his name written in that slightly haphazard, indecisive style of his; half French, half English. She had started to come to terms with being back in England now but it was Emile that bothered her most because she simply didn't know what to say to him. She remembered so clearly the last day they had been together, how little he had wanted her to return to France and how he had struggled with his feelings. She knew now how difficult it must have been to let her go when he knew that he couldn't play any part in the secret war that was continuing out in France but understood like no one else the dangers it entailed.

For the first two or three weeks after her return she had felt too mentally exhausted to even contemplate her feelings for him. In France she had divorced herself as much as possible from thoughts of any life beyond her immediate situation, switched off her emotions and concentrated on her job. She had been so busy that most of the time it had been easier than she had expected to forget there was any other life but there had been a few moments, a few very desperate moments when she had missed him intensely and longed to be with him. In those dreadfully low moments when she felt as if everything was on the verge of being lost she had wished she could see him just one more time, feel his arms around her and know that she was loved. The piece of paper in her hand nagged at her, telling her that he wanted to see her but still she hesitated for fear that too much might have changed.

As she left home on the final day of her leave, intending only to return to her temporary lodgings in Oxfordshire, it struck her that she was fooling herself if she thought she would ever be able to move on without confronting her feelings for Emile. She had to see him again, to know how he felt about her but more importantly to decide how she felt about him now. Conscious that she must seize the moment while she still had the courage, she bought a ticket to London and boarded the train before she could change her mind.

Now the train was late and every extra half hour sapped her confidence still further. George had hoped to reach London by mid-afternoon but by the time the train rolled into Euston Station it was almost six o'clock and her plan to catch Emile at Baker Street looked destined to fail. Having set off on the journey on the spur of the moment she hadn't been able to call him and let him know she was on her way. All she had known was that she needed to see him face to face and to explain her long silence; he deserved that.

By the time she reached Baker Street it was almost quarter to seven and she knew she was probably wasting her time but having come this far she didn't want to walk away without at least trying. To her immense surprise the Commissionaire at the reception desk called out to her as she entered, "Miss Lane. How very nice to see you again."

She approached the desk and said with genuine surprise, "Do you remember everyone who comes in here?"

He smiled at her, "No, not everyone but some people are etched in your memory." He leaned over the desk, "It's quite late, did you have an appointment because I hadn't been informed you would be coming here today."

She shook her head, "No, I've got no appointment but I had hoped to see someone, Flight Lieutenant Harte?"

She saw the look of regret on his face before his words confirmed the outcome of her enquiry, "I'm sorry but you've missed him. He left at least half an hour ago. Do you want to leave a message for him?"

It was disappointing but not entirely unexpected and she shook her head, "No, nothing."

It had taken her four weeks to get this far and she couldn't possibly leave a scrap of paper with a message. She felt deflated and turned to go but was stopped by the sound of the Commissionaire's voice.

"If it's urgent you might find him at the Carlton. He left with a group of people and I'm sure I overheard them say they were heading there."

X-X-X-X

Emile stood at the bar with a pint glass in his hand and watched the dancers on the crowded floor trying to move in the crush of bodies. He'd been here for nearly an hour, propping up the bar. He'd chatted with one or two chaps he knew in passing, listened to the band and been approached once or twice by women who weren't afraid in this day and age, it seemed, to take the lead and move in on him. He'd been polite, smiled and chatted amiably but he had no desire to dance with any of them and having taken the hint they had eventually drifted away, disappointed that the handsome RAF officer seemed disinterested.

He sipped his beer and listened to the saxophone as it launched into the instrumental part of the tune. He recognised the song, of course. How could he not when it reminded him of other evenings and other people, one in particular. He sang it softly under his breath, "A nightingale sang…."

"Would you like to dance?"

He turned his head in shocked surprise and his heart missed a beat. George was standing before him resplendent in her smartest ATS uniform, hair neatly curled and pinned up off her collar, a hint of powder and lipstick, every inch of her giving the appearance of a confident young woman serving her country and enjoying a night out in the capital. In a moment the world seemed to turn full circle and all Emile could think was that they were here again. It was almost as if they were back in that dance hall on the south coast three years ago, long before anything else had ever happened.

"You're back."

A statement of fact and yet he shook his head at the sight of her hardly recognising her after so long and still scarcely daring to believe his eyes. Four weeks with no word from her and then here she was without any warning.

"So…would you like to dance with me?"

He knew she was watching him, trying to gauge how he felt about her but he was almost lost for words. She had caught him completely unawares but in the end humour saved him.

"I don't dance with ATS girls."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because they're rude about Brylcreem."

She raised her eyes to look at his hair and suppressed a smile.

"You don't use Brylcreem."

He put his pint glass down on the bar, his eyes never leaving her face and George took a hesitant step towards him. He'd imagined this moment so many times and never doubted in all his imaginings that anything would stop him just sweeping her into his arms and making sure she'd never consider leaving again. However, now the moment had arrived he felt strangely diffident. He wanted her. The split second he'd clapped eyes on her he knew without doubt that nothing had changed for him but he was afraid that this might be another short stop-off on her way to some other destination and he wasn't sure he could bear it a second time. He took a short uneven breath, not sure if he was doing the right thing but he held out his hand to her and without a word she took it. He turned from her and led her to the dance floor.

It was very crowded and they were only able to venture in just a little way from the edge of the floor before Emile was obliged to slide his arm around her and move in close. She placed her hand on his shoulder and they started to shuffle around the floor in the crush of bodies to the slow, romantic ballad. They danced in silence listening to the sad melody and haunting words of reminiscence and longing and Emile couldn't help but bend his head in just a little closer to George's. Her hair brushed against his cheek and he caught her scent reviving so many old memories. She seemed to lean into him, her head almost resting on his shoulder and he closed his eyes hardly daring to believe they were here together again. He had waited so long for a moment like this and yet now it had arrived it was like an exquisite pain to him. He was afraid of being hurt but he couldn't resist her.

They danced without uttering a word to each other for a long while until the ballads drew to a close and the band stopped to take a break. The dancers began to move apart and drift away from the dance floor but Emile was reluctant to let George go. His arm stayed around her and he held her hand fast. She lifted her to head to look at him.

"How are you, Emile?"

He shook his head. "Right now, George, I'm afraid."

She was surprised. "Of what?"

He shrugged and it worried her. She had never seen Emile like this before, unsure of himself and struggling to find the words.

"I'm…afraid of this…well, of you and me or what any of it means."

She was quiet and her face was still. He couldn't read her expression. For a moment he wondered if she was annoyed and trying to hide it from him but then she raised her eyes to meet his and said in a quiet voice that trembled a little and for the first time betrayed to him her own nerves.

"I'm back and I'm here to stay…if you still want me."

It was all he needed to hear, all he had longed for throughout the many months they had been apart. He pulled her to him, his arms tightening around her and his lips close to her ear as he whispered in a long sigh, "Thank God."

Whether it was the news that she had no intention of leaving again or simply her safe return for which he gave thanks George had no idea as, not caring that they were now isolated on the dance floor, he kissed her with such warmth and passion that a few people turned to stare, surprised even in these days of apparent liberalism by such a display.

If people were turning around to stare, George certainly didn't notice because she thought only of Emile. In truth, she hadn't really known how she would feel until the moment she saw him again. On the way here from Baker Street her nerves had been increasing at an alarming rate. She had even paced up and down outside the hotel for ten minutes trying to bring her emotions into check before venturing in as she was desperately unsure of her reception. However, the moment she caught sight of him standing at the bar, alone and lost in thought she had felt the familiar tug at her heartstrings and as soon as his arms were around her she knew nothing had changed, at least nothing between them.

They hadn't stayed at the Carlton for very long and George was glad. She didn't want to be around other people and told him so.

"Let's get out of here."

He nodded, took her by the hand and they headed out into the night, not really knowing where they were going but ending up after a short while at his flat. He led her up two flights of stairs and opened the door which led into the small, rather bare apartment. It looked as if he spent little time here as there were no homely touches and nothing much in the way of comfort. She could imagine that to him it was just a place to rest his head at night.

He offered her a drink. "I've got a small bottle of scotch, don't ask me how I got it but I've been saving it for a special occasion."

"And this is it?"

He poured out two glasses and handed one to her, "You know it is."

George sat down on the sofa and Emile sat opposite in the only armchair. She sipped the fiery amber liquid and felt its warm glow spread to the pit of her stomach. He was watching her intently and cradling the glass in his hands with a thoughtful expression on his face. She knew that he was going to ask her the question soon, the one she would struggle to answer but she hedged around it, "Tell me what you've been up to, Emile."

They chatted very generally for a while, just like two acquaintances catching up on their news. He told her a little about his time at the Finishing School and his work at Baker Street without revealing any information to which he thought she shouldn't be party. Old habits died hard. She asked him about his family and what he'd been doing when he wasn't working and he answered with fairly mundane information about his father's domestic trials and attempts to 'dig for victory' and the social scene at F-Section, what little there was of it and how much of it seemed to centre around Phillip Bailey.

"I almost forgot," he added as an afterthought, "I was invited to a wedding."

George was surprised, "Whose?"

"My old friend, Charlie, the one I saw in hospital. He got married to a nice WAAF mechanic called Molly. I told you there was a girl involved somewhere. Bit of shock for his parents, I think, especially his mother but her mum and dad were a hoot at the reception and had everyone in stitches. Anyway, last I heard, there's a baby on the way, so it's happy families from here on."

George smiled, "So, all's well in the world."

He nodded, "Yes, it certainly is for them."

She noted that he hadn't included them in his assessment and an awkward silence fell between them. She could tell the moment was coming. He fidgeted slightly with the glass in his hand and cleared his throat.

"Why didn't you call me, George?"

There it was; the inevitable question. How could she sum up in one sentence all the reasons that she hadn't been able to speak to the one person who mattered the most. She hesitated before answering, wondering if he would understand. "I'd forgotten who I was."

He raised his glass and drank some of the whisky, clearly considering this for a few moments.

"And now?"

George took a deep breath, "I'm trying to remember and I'm trying to work out who I'm going to be. Does that make any sense?"

He nodded, "It does to me. It takes time to work out what the hell you're going to do after…that." He knew so little of what she had been doing recently that he couldn't think of any better way to phrase what he meant.

"I'm sorry I didn't telephone you." Her voice trembled and the hand holding the glass shook. Emile got up from the armchair, took the glass from her and placed it on a side table.

"Come here."

She stood up and he wrapped his arms around her whilst she held on tightly almost as if she was clinging to dear life itself.

"There's no need for any apologies. You came back."

It wasn't her fault but he sensed the gulf that had grown between them because of this last mission in France. He had no doubt she had performed her duty in an exemplary manner. He'd seen what she was capable of with his own eyes but now he wondered at what cost it had been to herself.

When George finally loosened her hold on Emile he stepped back and took a really long look at her. Beneath her attempts to brighten her appearance with some make-up he could tell that at heart she was weary. She couldn't hide anything from him because he knew her too well.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" He inclined his head to the right, "The bedrooms's over there. Just make yourself comfortable and get some rest. You look tired out."

She lifted her eyes and held his gaze for what seemed like a full heart-thumping ten seconds before she replied, "Only if you come with me."

He took a deep breath and tried to bring his conflicted emotions under control. He had missed her intensely and the thought of making love to her was at risk of overpowering his sense of decency. "I'm not sure it's a good idea, George. I don't want to get in the way. You need rest now."

She shook her head, "No, I need to feel alive again. I've been alone for too long." Her hands reached out to touch his face. He felt the light pressure of her palms on his skin and as her fingers slowly traced the line of his jaw and slid down his neck urging him to lean towards her, he saw her lips raised to meet his own and bending to kiss her he knew he had lost the fight.

X-X-X-X

Emile heard the sob in the darkness and rolled towards her.

"What's wrong?"

There was no reply and her silence worried him. He wondered for a moment if she was asleep and dreaming and was fearful of startling her but then another sob came and he felt the rustling of the sheets as she raised a hand to her cheek to brush away a tear and he waited no longer as his arms slid around her, "What's the matter, George?"

She took a deep shuddering breath, "It's all over."

He tightened his hold on her, "Yes, it's over but don't try to hold it in." He knew only too well how this felt. It had taken him many weeks to sleep soundly and not wake in a sweat, overcome with irrational fear of some unknown danger and accept that he could relax.

"You don't understand."

"I was there too, George."

She turned her head towards him and he felt her breath upon his face, "I know that but I meant that part of my life is over. I'll never feel that way again, Emile, about anything."

He understood this too. It had taken him a long time to adjust to life out of the field. The last three months, sitting behind a desk in Baker Street, had been the most difficult as he had realised that there would be no return to active service and he was faced with only an unknown future and the certainty that he would probably never feel as alive again as he had during his time in France.

"There will be other things, George. It will be different but you'll find other things in life."

There was silence until she asked in a faltering voice, "A home, a husband...children? Do you think that's for me?"

He could hear the scepticism in her voice and had to admit it sounded a million miles away from the woman who had raced through a firefight to rescue him as he lay injured in the factory compound over a year ago.

He swallowed hard. "Not if you don't want that."

It surprised him how much it hurt to say it. He hadn't really thought beyond her safe return but he supposed that in time he might have hoped for that life with her.

"But it doesn't have to be a life without love, does it?"

He feared the answer but she turned to him and reached out in the darkness, her fingers gently caressing his face, "I didn't say that."

He kissed her and pulled her in close to him, relieved and yet still slightly wrong-footed, "You're an unconventional woman, Georgina Lane."

"Is it any surprise?"

She had been thinking of the war and everything that had changed for young women like her since it had started but she could tell from Emile's response that he was thinking only of her.

"Not to me. I knew it the first time I saw you and I wouldn't have it any other way."

For some reason the mention of that very first evening brought more tears to her eyes. Memories of so many people she had met flowed through her mind; some who had survived, some who had disappeared to an uncertain fate and some she had lost forever. She couldn't help the feeling of immense sadness that swept over her. Whether it was grief for herself and what was now past or grief for others she couldn't tell but she began to cry in earnest, unable to hold back the flood of emotions that had been repelled for so long by her stubborn self-control. Emile simply wrapped his arms around her, stroked her hair, kissed her forehead and waited for the tears to subside.

When she spoke again many minutes later her voice was a mere whisper, "Did you feel like this too, afterwards?"

"Sometimes but when it was really difficult I thought of you and it kept me going."

George leaned over and tenderly kissed him, "It was the same for me."

X-X-X-X

George was dreaming. She was back in France. Emile, Bernard and Jacques were alongside her out in the open, engaged in a firefight with a German position but the soldiers had turned a machine gun on them. It was rattling away, pinning them down and holding back their attack. Emile was shouting something above the noise and grasping her by the arms, dragging her away.

"Get down, get under cover."

Startled, she opened her eyes, still unfocused and clouded by sleep and felt Emile's hands upon her, grasping her arms, dragging her off the bed, pulling her to the floor as he anxiously cried, "Cover your head, George."

There was a loud, mechanical puttering noise above them. It was very close and with a sudden jolt of fear George realised what was happening.

Twenty minutes earlier the V1 'doodlebug' rocket had been launched from somewhere in northern Europe and was now immediately overhead having reached its destination. At any moment its engine would cut out signalling an immediate descent to earth where it would scatter indiscriminate death and destruction. The puttering stopped. Emile and George held their breaths, frozen in concentration and dreadful anticipation, wondering if after everything they had been through this was to be their fate.

The shattering explosion was close, too close for comfort. The building shook, the windows rattled, the curtains moved back and forth in the wake of the blast. Glass and rubble cascaded into the street and above them the plaster from the ceiling rained down, covering everything in a film of white powder.

Emile got to his feet and reached out a hand to George to pull her up. She joined him and took a few deep breaths to steady the rapid beating of her heart. It had been a shocking awakening and her nerves were still jangling. It had also reminded her very sharply that her own personal war might have drawn to a conclusion but the war beyond was not over yet. Emile headed for the window and pulled back the curtains. The 'doodlebug' had fallen further down the street and the devastated victim had been a tall townhouse. The house had been reduced to a gaping hole of rubble and timber whilst the garden gate, remarkably intact, swung on its hinges as if someone had just walked up the garden path to knock at the door. Already, Emile could see people running to the scene and in the distance the ringing bell of a fire engine announced it was on its way.

George crossed the room to join Emile. She had seen plenty of bomb damage both here in England and more recently in France in the aftermath of the allied attacks on towns and villages of northern France being held by the Wehrmacht but she had never become used to it. She shuddered to think how close they had been to death yet again and Emile turned to look at her, concern written all over his face. "Are you alright?"

"Yes."

She looked out into the street. People were gathering at the bomb site starting to remove rubble with their bare hands and already she knew she couldn't stand by and watch.

"Come on, let's go and help."

They dressed with haste and hurried down the stairs and out into the street. As they drew nearer they could see that an army sergeant was trying to form the dozen or so people at the scene into a human chain as they started to pass the rubble from hand to hand. A man in front seemed to think that a family was trapped. Soon firemen were also on the scene and started directing the rescuers activities.

Emile and George took their place in the line and started the laborious process of helping to remove the bricks and rubble piece by piece, knowing that it was essential that they work carefully to avoid disturbing the unstable scene. When more people arrived a second chain was formed and George and Emile moved nearer to the front of the line. Every five minutes or so someone shouted for silence and everyone stopped still in their place while the person at the front of one of the lines called down into the debris and strained their ears for any sounds of life.

They had been working away for nearly an hour in this fashion when above them came the familiar sound of another puttering engine. Everyone stopped work and raised their eyes to the sky. This doodlebug was further away from them and destined to fall further to the east. Nevertheless, they froze as one, anticipating the moment it would fall. When the moment arrived they waited for the explosion and then one man muttered, "Bloody bastards," under his breath before they all turned back to the work in hand.

George worked in silence, methodically taking the rubble from Emile and passing it back to the man next her. Her hands, face, hair and uniform were caked in plaster and brick dust, her throat was dry and the skin on her palms was cracked and sore but neither she nor anyone else had any intention of giving up. The last time a shout had gone up for silence the fireman and ARP warden at the front of the line had reporting hearing something and despite the fact that everyone had been standing in the line for almost two hours they were all heartened by the news. Five more minutes passed and then a call for another silence. George looked over at Emile and he caught her eye. His expression told her he felt the same two emotions; hope and fear. They waited as they had so many times already this morning and then at last came the excited cry, "There's a woman down here with a baby."

They had to move even more slowly and carefully as they grew tantalisingly nearer, desperately trying to ensure that the trapped mother and child were not put in danger from any falling masonry until finally there was the joyous moment of seeing a hand emerge into the open from beneath the pile of rubble, a hand waving at them in the relief of rescue. After a few more minutes the rescue party had scraped out a bigger hole and through it was handed a baby girl who appeared to be little more than six months old. She was passed to the ARP warden who carried the precious bundle down to a waiting ambulance. After another ten minutes the mother appeared, caked in dust with cuts to her head but a smile of utter relief and joy on her face. Apart from the superficial wounds she appeared unharmed and was able to stagger with assistance over the rubble down to the ambulance to be reunited with her daughter.

A WVS mobile canteen had arrived on the scene to support the emergency services and the rescuers, and having been told to take a break whilst the fireman assessed the safety of the site, George and Emile took the chance to get some refreshment. They made their way over to the van to get a cup of tea. The plump, rosy-cheeked woman behind the counter poured the steaming brew into two tin mugs and handed them over with a broad smile on her face.

"You're doing a grand job. Keep it up."

George took the mug of tea from her and retreated a little way to sit on a low garden wall and Emile strolled over to join her. She quietly cradled the mug in her hands and stared into the distance with a frown on her face almost as if she was trying to make something out that only she could see. Emile could tell something was on her mind.

"What's up, George. I know that look."

She gazed up at him with a half-smile on her face, "I was thinking about last night."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Really?"

She knew his sense of humour and thought he was going to misunderstand her so she nudged him with her shoulder, "Nothing like that."

She lapsed into silence again and Emile feared she was going to clam up on the subject, "Go on," he urged.

She took a deep breath. "Last night I felt that coming back here meant that I'd never be needed again. Then this morning this unexpected, terrifying thing happened and its made me realise that it's not over yet. Even when we win this war, and I know we will win, Emile, there will still be so much to do and so many people who will need help. We've just helped to save two people's lives and, God willing, more before the day is out. You were right; there will be other things that matter as much. I just have to find them."

He nodded, "If I know you, you'll make people need you and they'd be fools to turn you down."

She gave him a sidelong glance, "Or maybe fools to take me on?"

He shook his head, "Never that."

They drank their tea sitting close together on the wall, not needing to say anything more. The early morning clouds had parted and the area was bathed in warm sunshine. George closed her eyes for a minute appreciating the gentle comfort of the warmth on her skin and Emile turned his to head to look at her. Despite the awfulness of this situation, the fact that she was filthy dirty and probably exhausted, she seemed at peace.

George opened her eyes and caught him gazing at her and for the first time that morning her face broke into a smile.

"What?"

He didn't want to ruin the pleasure of witnessing that simple moment, "Nothing, I was just wondering if you'd like another cup of tea?" He demonstrated the fact that his mug was empty by turning it upside down.

She reached out and took the mug from him, "I'll go."

She got to her feet and started towards the WVS van but had only taken two paces when she was halted by the sound of Emile's voice calling after her.

"George!"

She turned her head. He looked deadly serious and for a moment she was afraid of what might follow.

"There's something I never said to you. Something that should have been said a long time ago before you went back to France."

She wasn't sure what it could be but remained silent. He got up and walked towards her.

"I should have thanked you for saving _my_ life. I'd never have made it without you. I know that and considering what you thought of me when we first met out there, it's a wonder you didn't shoot me at the outset and save yourself all the trouble that followed."

She couldn't help smiling, "The thought crossed my mind once or twice."

He smiled too, "Can't say I blame you but you gave me another chance for which I will be eternally grateful." His arms crept around her waist and he held her close for a moment affirming their new understanding; he knew that she loved him and that he held an important place in her life but he loved her enough to let her be whatever she wanted.

George looked into his eyes and fleetingly thought of how much had changed for her in the last three years. She had found a purpose in life that she had never expected and been given an opportunity to challenge herself and prove that she could achieve more than she had ever imagined possible. She had the love of a good, brave and decent man but she knew now with surety that this was not the end of the story; if she had learned anything from her experiences it was that she had the strength within her to achieve whatever she set her heart upon.

"It wasn't just you," she asserted, "I gave myself a chance too."

THE END


End file.
